Honeymoon Evening
by Asso
Summary: After Destiny. Trip and T'Pol have their first "Honeymoon Dinner".
1. Chapter 1

_**Honeymoon Evening **_

_**Honeymoon Journey (and Delights) – Day One**_

**By Asso**

* * *

**Part One - The Dinner **

**(scene one) **

* * *

Well!

_I have followed my inspiration! _

_So, after the "morning", here is he "evening" of the Honeymoon Vacation of our couple. _

_I ask people who would have preferred a little bit of HOT LOVE to forgive me. _

_Here, again, there is No HOT LOVE. (But it will arrive, it will arrive, I swear!) _

_And please . . . All of you who will be so kind as to read this fic . . . be gentle about my narcissism. In this story you have . . . well . . . perhaps the perfect definition of the word. _

_But anyway, this fic, in my opinion, is . . . . agreeable. _

_(Well, you see, I am also modest.) ;) _

_I hope you enjoy it! _

* * *

**Suggestion:**

You can read this story even if you haven't read my other fics, but I suggest you read the others, _especially __Destiny__ NC17 (for violence, no sex, __Honeymoon__ NC17 (On Triaxiansilk)__, __Honeymoon Morning,__ and, last, __Ulysses_ complete the painting but they are not essential for understanding the present fic. If you decide to follow my suggestion everything will be . . _more logical._

**Rating:** PG **Genre:** Romance, yet once again sweet . . . very, very sweet.

**Summary:** CAUTION! There is an Old Italian waiter, a snoop, who is just snoopy enough, no more. (I told you: MY NARCISSISM!)

**Spoilers:** Please, don't be angry! Always the same story: all and nothing. Many suggestions stolen here and there.

**Disclaimer:** _Star Trek: Enterprise_ is owned by Paramount, not me. No infringement intended, no profit made.

**Notes:** The words in italics between (*___*) represent the thoughts (By now this is a refrain!).

**Thanks (much thanks):** To justTrip'n for helping me express myself in a language that is not my first language and for her immense patience, her ability to read my thoughts, and her endless sweetness (By now this, too, is a refrain!).

* * *

Premise

_**20:30 P.M. - Dinner Time**_

_Trip and T'Pol are in "Lungarno Corsini", in Florence._

_They are in front of the palace where there's the restaurant that Trip has chosen as the best for their first honeymoon dinner._

_Behind their shoulders there's Arno river._

_To their right side there's the "Ponte Vecchio"._

_After they exited their hotel, where they have spent their firs wedding night, among Tuscany's hills, where did they go?_

_To Florence, obviously!_

_And there they wandered round town, hand in hand, nibbling a little bit of pizza (strictly vegetarian) and seeing a little bit of what the place has to offer._

_Approximately at six o'clock in the evening they got back to their hotel, in order to dress for the dinner (and, honestly, T'Pol's dress is very . . . remarkable!)_

_And now they are here, in front of the restaurant's entrance, both looking up at it. Both slightly . . . frightened._

_Now they are inside. _

_The maître welcomes them._

_He guides them up along the stairs._

_He brings them to their booked table in the Dinner Room, then he gives them the menu._

_A very nice romantic and . . . private dinner!_

_Well, maybe not exactly private, to tell the true._

_But what the eye sees not, the heart does not rue._

_So, for both you, Commander T'Pol and Commander Tucker, this one forever will be your romantic, intimate . . . Honeymoon Dinner!_

* * *

_**Scene One**_

"_Bistecca alla fiorentina?"_

"Yes, sir?"

"Well... how about it? How is this . . . _bistecca alla fiorentina?_"

"Oh sir, it is one of the favourite dishes of the Italian cuisine of Tuscany. It consists of a t-bone steak, traditionally taken from the Chianina breed of cattle, grilled over a wood fire, and seasoned with salt, black pepper, and olive oil. It is invariably served very rare, sometimes garnished with lemon wedges, like we do here. And following Tuscan tradition, Tuscan beans is served as the usual side dish."

"Well that sure sounds appetize'n!"

"Oh yes, sir! Undoubtedly whoever loves meat appreciates it very much."

"Mmmh … I'll bet! And… and here we are in Tuscany…"

"Of course, sir. The breeds of cattle are certainly different one from another and the Chianina, they say, is the basis of the peculiar taste of this dish, especially if a great red wine accompanies it. For example a DOCG Brunello of Montalcino-riserva, if, for the wine, you want to remain in Tuscany; or a Barolo or a Barbaresco, if you appreciate the excellence of the great wines of Piedmont."

"Oh yes, . . . certainly . . . of course . . ."

"Do you want me to have this dish made for you, sir? Or for madam, if she appreciates it? Or for both?"

"Oh . . . well . . . I . . . I think . . . well, I think . . ."

The lady interjects, "If you would really like to eat this _bistecca alla fiorentina,_ then you should do so."

The lady is speaking with a quiet and composed tone, and also, if truth be told, it seems to me that there is a certain vein of restrained amusement, in the way she pronounces her words.

"Oh but . . . you . . . I . . . I was thinking that . . . well . . . "

I remain silent, while I am waiting for and looking at the couple, trying to not make too obvious my interest and my curiosity.

"Certainly, if you would were to ask my opinion, I would point out how much healthier you have become as of late. Undoubtedly our . . . peculiar . . . present situation requires your optimal physical condition. If after a long abstinence, you were to resume the consumption of animal flesh, optimality might be sacrificed. To be honest, I would regret that . . . very much."

Again that tone in the lady's words, even if I am not capable of understanding exactly what they mean.

Well,—I smile to myself–perhaps her tone is a bit . . . _allusive_? The manners, the attitudes and the gestures of this couple are, well, . . . precisely those of a couple.

Yes. I am sure.

I observe the man as he slightly blushes and rolls his eyes, pretending annoyance, but openly smiling.

It's so. This is a veritable couple. Or, better yet, a true couple in true love.

I have had this job such a long time and I've observed such a great number of people seeking love, here, in this place.

This couple is not seeking. This couple has it.

There is a sweetness, a tenderness, a secret complicity, even if, I don't know . . . I feel something strange.

And nevertheless . . . nevertheless . . . it is clear and manifest they are in love. And in bliss.

I believe . . . _I believe_ . . .

I glance at the lady's small, thin hand, and notice it displays a strange but splendid ring, matching that on the mans big hand, which she now takes in hers.

Yes, I am sure!

Those are wedding rings.

And this is their honeymoon!

It's so.

Ah, well! In that case, what a lucky man!

Surely he is handsome, although I'm not the best judge. Tall, athletic, with a smile engaging and roguish, and two blue eyes lively and naughty, seemingly created to seduce maidens and damsels; elegant in his dark blue suit.

But she . . .

Rarely . . . very rarely, have my eyes enjoyed the sight of a woman so beautiful!

A body small, but, for Pete's sake, how well made! So... ahem... curvaceous and buxom!!

A narrow waist; hips, well-shaped and generous. A pair of legs extend beneath a short dress, reaching just above the knees, which allows them to be appreciated for all they their worth... and, by Jove, they are worth a lot! The sight of those legs, as she was crossing them—showing some extra thigh in the process— before hiding them under the table, was . . . amazing.

Her dress is dark blue, like the suit of the man, fitted and strapless, and clinging to her in all the right places, nipped in to nothing at her already tiny waist, and showing off her bronzed, toned shoulders—bare like the arms, smooth and well rounded.

The large and plunging neckline of the dress allows one to catch a tempting glimpse of her magnificent bosom, which, rising and swelling at every breath, and is inevitably taking every poor man like me to forbidden thoughts.

But it is the face that is the loveliest and most charming part of this marvellous woman, who, moving or motionless, transpires an ineffable grace.

Holding her regal head up, upright with majestic bearing, in so proud and so noble way as to appear almost disdainful, like a veritable queen, she delights the eyes with the sight of a beautiful, wonderful face.

A crop of straight and jet-black hair, long enough and adjusted with a coiffure to hide partially the forehead and the cheeks and totally the ears, frames a perfect oval, where, shining and bewitching are two large chocolate eyes with long eyelashes, crowned by delicious eyebrows, delightfully and perfectly accurate.

The eyes surmount a little cute nose under which a wonderful, perfect, swollen, and red mouth is showing two marvellous lips, plump and mellow and, surely . . . fragrant and soft . . .

A weird complexion, bronzed and seductive, which accentuates the skin's silky and velvety appearance . . .

A strange expression, apparently blank and immovable, but actually intense and vivid in the sparkle of the eyes. All that gives her an attitude, an aura, distant, remote, but not cold . . . Rather it is an aura superbly regal, almost mesmerizing, which furthers her glamour.

And the ears certainly, if they could be seen, would be . . .

"Maître? Hey, maître ... "

(*_Oh, blast it! Once more, I've fallen into the trap! To hell with my Italian heritage and to hell also with my poor father, whose genes have made me so. I am exactly like him! A pair of large female eyes, a pair of legs such as these . . . and I am lost! *_)

I almost startle, seeing the man watching me with a puzzled and inquisitive look. Luckily my expertise with the public allows me to conceal my embarrassment and recover quickly.

"I am very sorry, sir! I am aware that you were speaking with me, but at the same time the chief cook was suddenly telling me of several pressing problems."—I point at the little device on my right ear—"I am no longer a young man, and my ability to pay attention to two things in parallel is not the same as in days passed. I would be very grateful if you would kind enough to repeat." I am crossing my fingers behind me, hoping my white lie will get me by.

The man looks at me a little uncertain. Then his blue eyes sparkle, a flash of amusement, suddenly understanding the reason for my lack of focus. He takes a glance at the woman, who has remained absolutely quiet and composed, as if the material world does not even affect her. He turns his eyes on me, openly smiling with kindness and—(*_oh yes_*)— with male pride. "That's fine. I was asking you for something special to eat, something particular to the area, and . . . without meat."

The temptation is too strong, and I can't resist answering a little playfully. "Of course, sir. Tuscany has many choices of vegetarian dishes, tasty and also... both substantial and light, of the sort I imagine the lady and you would both like." I am smiling innocently, sounding just a bit allusive with these words.

The man's eyes sparkle brighter, while he gives a soft chuckle. The woman is maintaining the same statuesque posture, the raising of one of her eyebrows as her only gesture; but I can see a slight shining of amusement in her dark eyes.

"Okay! So, we are waiting for your suggestions."

"Yes sir. I would like propose first the _ribollita._"

"Rib… ribollita?"

"Exactly, sir. It's a very traditional Tuscan dish. Ribollita means _reboiled._ To tell the truth, an authentic ribollita takes 3 days to prepare. On the first day, minestrone is made. On the second day, the soup is layered with bread and thin slices of red onion and baked. On the third day, it is all reboiled for the ribollita. And here we can make it, because it is our pleasure to offer our residents the best of the culinary Tuscan tradition. This soup is full of fresh vegetable flavour and has such a nice mix of texture, soft from the beans and the bread, and slight crunch, from the celery and carrots. It feels hearty and satisfying without being too heavy or fattening. Really, really good, and it does have the very essence of the kinds of food you have to eat when you're in Tuscany."

The man gives a sidelong glance at the lady, who simply nods.

"All right. And then?"

"Pappa al Pomodoro."

"What?"

"Pappa al Pomodoro."

"But . . . pappa . . . isn't that for babies?"

"Ordinarily it's so, sir, but this isn't true for our Pappa al Pomodoro. Despite the somewhat mushy appearance, it is a very flavourful dish. Also this is a soup, a tomato base thickened with bread chunks, flavoured with basil, garlic and tarragon. The bread soaks up all the moisture in the soup, resulting in a thick mushy consistency that has a lot of flavor. And since a whole loaf of bread is packed in there, along with some good vegetables, it makes a reasonable light dinner when some protein is added alongside, such as chicken, or sausages. Of course, in your case, this protein could be some cheese, if you agree. For example just a small taste of Pienza ewe milk's cheese, very good with a drop of honey, or better, of honey of Castiglione of Orcia, and absolutely delicious if accompanied by an equally very good Montepulciano Noble-Wine."

This time the glance isn't so sidelong. And maybe it's slightly worried too, and . . . well, pleading?

Another solemn nod. But . . . I am sure . . . the shine of the eyes became brighter and it seems to me that the hint of a thin smile is curling her lips, making her even more beautiful, if possible.

(*_What wonderful a woman, and this air of nobility and of mystery . . . No, stop! Don't go there again!*_)

"OK. We'll have that." The man now appears clearly pleased. "Go on, . . . please."

"Yes sir. May I suggest for the ribollita a rosé of the Central-Etruria hills? Its taste, fresh and full-bodied, lively and dry, with low alcoholic-strenght, will accent the flavour of the ribollita."

A glance, once more. Once more, such a fascinating, mysterious _smile/non-smile,_ on the face and in the eyes of the lady; an assent.

"Sure. Sounds wonderful."

"I am pleased, you agree, sir. In the end, may I suggest for dessert . . ."

"No." He cuts me off.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" I am perplexed by the unexpected interruption.

"Well . . . I . . . we . . . excuse me, but . . ."

"Yes, sir?"

"Well… uh… we would like a specific dessert."

"Yes, sir?"

"Pecan pie!"

"Pecan pie, sir?"

"Pecan pie. Oh, we know it's not typical of Tuscany, or anything . . ." He looks to the lady, smiling warmly. "But we have our good reasons."

I could swear the lady, too, is smiling, joyously, in return, even if her lips don't make the slightest move.

"A' course, if you don't have pecan pie . . ."

"Oh certainly we have it, sir. It is a point of honour for us offer our guests, who come from around the world, whatever they are pleased to have. At the dinner's end, pecan pie will be served, accompanied, if you wish, by a glass of Vin Santo of Chianti, a raisin wine, just right for dessert."

Another glance. Another twinkling, sparkling, flashing, smiling/non-smiling look of the lady.

"May I, sir?"

"You may."

"Very well, sir. Madam, sir; please let me go, so that your orders are prepared." – Meanwhile, I light the candle in the middle of the table, so than its feeble and flickering glimmer might create an atmosphere more intimate and romantic; I am sure it will be appreciated. "I would also like to offer to you as hors-d'oeuvre a small slice of Fettunta. I am pleased to offer it on the house, with a sip of bubbly white Elba. The Fettunta is a very ancient dish of Italy, a dish of the poor, of the peasants. It is a rustic slice of Tuscan bread without salt, toasted in an oven or on a plate. When the bread is warm and crisp, the surface is rubbed with a clove of garlic and then seasoned with extra-virgin olive oil, salt and pepper. I am sure you will fancy it."

Again. A glance. A smiling/non-smiling look. An imperceptible nod.

"That would be great."

"I am glad, sir. Madam, sir."

I acknowledge them with a slight nod of my head, then turn to complete my job.

But I am intrigued, fascinated by this couple.

I am an Old Italian waiter, a snoop, . . . but just to a point!

And I am curious.

* * *

(_*Okay, here it is perfect.*_)

These ancient houses preserve a lot of secrets.

This old building has them too: secrets as hidden places, from which it is possible to hear and to watch, concealed form the sight of those who can be spied on.

The ancient owners had their good reasons, just as I do.

I suppress a twinge of guilt.

It is not too virtuous what I am doing—observing this couple, while hidden in the shade.

But the temptation is too strong; these two are intriguing and captivating; and too . . . strange and . . . lovely. (_*Goddamn my male heart*_); I admit it is the woman.

And then, who knows? From their conversation, perhaps, I can learn something useful—something to make their Honeymoon more pleasant, . . . if my supposition is correct.

With this last thought, with which I attempt to hush my sense of guilt, I open the panel through which I can secretly hear and watch this couple.

I begin my "observation."

The hors-d'oeuvres are already on the table and they are alone.

The woman is speaking.

What a sensual voice!

--------------

"Thank you"

"For what?"

"My wishes are granted. You have given up your desire to taste the bistecca alla fiorentina"

"Honey, my whims are no match for your logic, . . ."

"You always joke."

"My hunger for meat in't noth'n next to my hunger for you."

"Stop it, Trip . . . "

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(*_Trip? This tells me something . . ._*)

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"Sorry darling. Just teas'n."

"I appreciate your humour, though it is a bit . . ."

"Relentless?"

"Yes"

"You're right, babe. Though it's often useful, like just now . . ."

"What you mean?"

"Well, if I didn't have a sense of humour, I might be bothered by how that waiter was looking at you."

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(*Ooops…*)

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"Oh, but I . . ."

"And I might be concerned about the way _all the men_ are looking at you."

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(*_Oh, how I understand you, sir… and other men too! _*)

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"You are jealous?"

"Yes . . . I'm jealous."

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(*_You have good reasons, sir! A woman so gorgeous_!*

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"Jealousy is illogical and . . ."

"Honey. You're sure you want to go there? People in glass houses . . ."

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(*_What does he mean? And why this gently mocking tone?_*)

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"Perhaps I'll overlook this one human weakness . . ."

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(*The lady sounds slightly embarrassed, but maybe also amused.*)

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"But, believe me, Ashayam . . ."

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(*_A… Ashayam?_ *)

The lady's voice became low and tender, while she leans towards the man and delicately takes his large right fist, which is resting on the table, with both her pretty little hands.

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"**You have no reason to be jealous, because, and you well know it, I am only yours!"**

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(*_Oh my God!_ *)

A slightly foolish smile is plastered on his face. The man is flushing visibly, even at the faint glimmer of the candle's flame, clearly both embarrassed and delighted by the lady's words.

I imagine what kind of foolish grin would be plastered on my face if a woman like this would speak this way to me!

With his free hand, the man grasps the glass of bubbly white Elba and, bringing it to his mouth, drinks a sip, with the clear purpose of pulling himself together.

Then, putting the glass down on the table, he speaks with husky voice, staring at the woman.

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"**Hon, I love you more than I dare admit! You are my life!"**

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(*_Oh damn!_ *) – Goddamn my sentimentalism! I feel my heart sink and my eyes are suddenly moist. - (***That's Amore!,***) The man speaks again, lifting this glass.

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"A toast, darling, to our Honeymoon!"

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(*_Ahhhh! I was right! *_)

Her left hand still on his right, on the table, the woman grasps her glass with the right, and also lifts it. Their eyes meet. With the sweetest voice, she too speaks:

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"To our Honeymoon, T'hai'la!"

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(*_T . . . T . . . T'h . . . ai'la? What was that word before? A . . . Ash . . . Ashayam, yes. And now this . . . T'hai' . . . T'hai'la. What do they mean? I . . . I want to know! *_)

My thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of my wait staff, who take away the dishes, by now empty, and then serve the ribollita with the rosé. I can't help but notice that woman's beauty also charms them.

They leave and the couple is alone again.

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"It's good!"

"Yes, T'hai'la. It is."

"Hon, You seem more and more human-like, . . . no offense."

"Because I enjoy this food? It isn't the first time I have tried something new. You have been a good teacher."

"And you have been a good student, and not only about food."

"Are you trying to say . . . ?"

"I believe Hoshi would be pleased with your choice of clothes."

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(*_Hoshi . . . Again a name that call up something in me . . . __Hoshi, Hoshi . . . Hoshi S . . . Sa . . . __Hoshi Sato! Yes, it's so! But when and where did I hear it? *_)

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"And what about you?"

"Darling, you are gorgeous. No, you are radiant! I mean, . . . wow."

"I am pleased you appreciate my attire. It would be regrettable, if I were to wear such uncomfortable . . . high-heeled shoes and . . . bare my shoulders and my legs . . . without making you glad."

"You do it to make me happy?"

"Yes, of course. Why do you ask? Surely you know I want to be enjoyed by you."

"Oh…"

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(*_Oh…*_)

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"But . . ."

"But?"

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(*_But?_*)

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" . . . But I feel something is annoying you. I feel it clearly in the bond."

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(*_Bond?_ *)

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"Maybe you enjoy my dress, but find it a little too… daring? I was thinking this attire, according with Hoshi's advice, was the right thing to put on for our first Honeymoon dinner, in a place like this."

"Hon, I already told you; your attire is perfect, spectacular; I love it."

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(*_Me too. Thanks, Hoshi! Whoever you are._ *)

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"Well then, what is it? Ashayam, what is bothering you?"

"Never mind, Hon."

"T'hai'la, please!"

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(*_Don't you hear her, stubborn man? She said "Please"! Ladies mustn't be displeased! You . . oh ...Shit! Just now!_*)

While talking, they finished eating their ribollita, and I believe they thoroughly enjoyed it, considering their empty dishes. And, judging by their emptied glasses, the wine, too, seems to have been welcome. — (*_Good*_).

My waiters, who have been discretely watching, appear immediately as the pair finishes this course to clear away the plates and to serve the Pappa al Pomodoro, with the cheese, the honey and the right wine, the Montepulciano Noble-Wine—**and to interrupt the conversation just when it was about to get interesting! (***_**Shit, shit and yet again, shit!**_*)

Once more my waiters go away. I hope that now that my couple, yes, my couple is alone again, something might develop from what has begun . . .

Yes! It's so! Fortunately, it is not only the man who is stubborn. The lady seems to be equally capable!

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"This is good too. Isn't it, sweetheart?!"

"Don't try to evade me, T'hai'la. I know you're annoyed, and frankly I don't understand why you hesitate to share your troubles with me, your bond-mate"

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(*_Again another of these strange terms.*_)

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"Hon…"

--------------

I look at the man.

Plainly ill at ease, he is rolling his tongue alongside the inside of his cheek, a gesture that stirs up something in me, a vague memory. I have seen this gesture . . . _**this man!**_

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"No. You are shielding your thoughts from me. Why do you do that? I am your bond-mate. I am… very displeased by this action."

"Hon, please…"

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(*_You are shielding your thoughts from me?!? _*)

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"Trip!"

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(*_Trip… Trip, Trip, Trip, Trip… __**TRIP**__! Oh, but… yes! _*)

The woman has stopped eating. Once again she takes the man's hand in both of hers. In fact, she seizes it, with force, gazing into his eyes, worried and . . . well . . . nearly pleading.

And . . . _Commander Charles Tucker the Third, . . . he's called Trip. Now I remember and know exactly who this man is, even with slightly darker hair and the moustache_— Commander Tucker, Senior Officer and Chief Engineer of Enterprise, hero of the war against Xindi, explorer of space, is lowering his look, shamefaced in front of his wife.

**And perhaps I am beginning to understand who his wife is.**

Suddenly I recall the words of _my_ wife, when we and our friends were talking over the events of the Xindi war, at its end.

The government revealed what had happened in the Expanse, and the Enterprise crewmen were celebrated everywhere as true heroes.

The interviews followed one after another, transmitted across the globe. And, across the whole world, people were talking, finally free from fear, and debating . . .

**One of the matters discussed was why this one particular Vulcan had been at our side, fighting for us on Enterprise, while others of her species had declined to come to the aid of our imperilled planet.**

"_She is a spy!" — "I don't trust her!" —– "Perhaps the Captain's mistress . . ." — "But how can that be? She is Vulcan!" — "Yeah! An alien like the Xindi!" . . ._

I smile to myself, remembering those comments . . . and remembering the words of my wife.

"_I can't know for sure . . . But one fact is certain . . . When this Commander, this... what is his nickname? . . . ah yes, Trip . . . When this Trip is speaking from the screens, laughing his beautiful laugh . . . well, she is always there, her arms clasped together at the small of her back, raising her eyebrow at him, as Vulcans do when they are rebuking someone or expressing disapproval. . . But, in any case, she is standing nearby and . . . always watching him._"

It is a lady's voice that calls back me to the present.

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"Trip! This is our Honeymoon. You wanted this and convinced me to do it with you, with my human husband."

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(*_With her . . . __**human**__ . . . husband! So . . . I believe I am right! __**My wife was right!***_)

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"You promised we would enjoy this Honeymoon, and… you have been right. I a quite pleased with our Honeymoon, and I don't want anything to ruin it, to infringe on our . . . joy, not even slightly!"

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(*_My Good! What a love! What a love in these words! *_)

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"T'Pol…"

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(*_**T'Pol! . . .**__ So, it's quite true! I was right!_*)

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"Ashayam, I beg you, please share your troubles and your thoughts with me, like we share our life."

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(*_T'Pol of Vulcan. This is the woman who is speaking in this way… so… passionately… to her man. To her… human husband._*)

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"T'Pol…"

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(*_T'Pol of Vulcan. The Vulcan First Officer of the Enterprise. The Vulcan female loved and hated because of whom she is; an alien, like the Xindi, who is serving on a human vessel. The Vulcan . . . "witch," as many call her, haughty, distant and cold, like all Vulcans are. Yes, she has bewitched this remarkable man. It is something like my wife suspected, what the urban legend has us murmuring! It seems this legend is NOT a legend at all! Except that this . . . "witch" . . . is the same woman I see speaking and acting so lovingly to her man! _*)

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"T'Pol… I… I can't!"

"You must, Ashayam! You are my bond-mate. You are . . . _my husband. I am your wife!_ Nothing can, nothing **must** be hidden between us!"

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(*_Ashayam. Bond-mate. T'hai'la. I don't know the meaning of these words, even if now I can guess it; but by now the puzzle pieces are falling in place. They are Vulcan words, and, I am sure, connected with… love!_ *)

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"T'Pol… "

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The Commander lifts his eyes to look into those of his . . . wife. His voice is a sigh.

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"T'Pol… It's your…hairdo!"

"My hairdo?

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(*_Her hairdo? _*)

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"Yes"

"Don't you enjoy my hairdo?"

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Are you crazy, man? She is magnificent!*)

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"Hon, your hair could be long, short, frizzy, smooth, blond, black, or any which way you want! My soul would just see you, the wonderful, brilliant T'Pol, who I love."

"Oh!"

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(*_Oh!_ *)

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"But . . ."

"But?"

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(*_But?_*)

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"Those . . ."

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The man is squeezing the woman's hand, while speaking plaintive and sad.

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"Those . . . beautiful pointed ears!"

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(*_Pointed ears? Oh, but certainly! She is Vulcan! _*)

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"What to you mean to say?"

"Darling, your hair cut was contrived to hide your ears, it was designed _to hide what you are . . ."_

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The Commander's voice now grows angry.

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"… in order to hide what **we are . . . **_**a mixed-species couple in love.**_"

"T'hai'la . . ."

"Oh, I know what you want to say! It would be too risky, _illogical._ We would be sticking our necks out!"

"T'hai'la…"

"Yes, we supposedly destroyed those f*%ing Terra Primers, but there still could be some stupid, unpredictable bigot, even hidden in this place, or some dangerous zealot, sympathizing with those who caused our pain . . . with Elizabeth. Or who nearly caused my death and your madness when . . . "

"T'hai'la NO!"

"…when…"

"**NO!!"**

--------------

Abruptly the man stops speaking at the choked exclamation of the woman.

(*_Elizabeth . . . Oh, I remember perfectly! She was the baby girl created by those child abusers, the Terra Primers, as the Commander said. The child who died . . . Oh my God! __**She was their daughter**__!_)

I look at the couple with a knot in my throat.

These two suffered in the past because of Human bigots and now they are concealing themselves for fear. Fear of what? Certainly there are many bigots and I realize a Vulcan–Human couple would be unwelcome in many homes. But, fear . . . Why? What did the Commander want to say? What happened that was so frightening that his wife doesn't want it repeated?

--------------

"**I don't want to remember!"**

--------------

(*_Oh my God! She is trembling! A Vulcan who trembles! _*)

--------------

"Hon! Please, forgive me!"

--------------

The man now is pressing the woman's hands with both of his, staring at her with a very worried look, and she . . . —(*_Oh damn it!_ *)— she is clearly holding back tears!

--------------

"Honey, darling, sweetheart! Please, no! No! _**No!**_ I am here, alive, with you!"

--------------

The woman shakes her head, shutting her eyes, like she wants to blot out something horrible from her mind. Then she lifts her eyelids, looking at her husband and speaking with—(*_yes! Just so! *)—with a tearful voice. _

_-------------- _

"_Never again do I want to live moments like those! Never again! And if it is so important for you that we openly live our relationship everywhere we go, also here on Earth, then I will cut the tips of my ears . . ." _

"_T'Pol!" _

"… _in order to openly and safely be your spouse, as you want!" _

"_**T'Pol!**__" _

_-------------- _

_(*NO! *) _

_-------------- _

"_YES! And . . ." _

"_**Enough, T'Pol!"**_

_-------------- _

_(*__**YES! Enough!**_*)

I am sweating! Just so! I am sweating! A love like this has to be hidden from eyes of world! In order to prevent the reoccurrence of terrible things—whatever it was that happened. And I don't care to imagine what might have happened.

But we perpetrated these things! **WE, Humans!**

I feel ashamed!

I feel abashed at the harm we humans did to these two, even if I do not know exactly what sorts of crimes they suffered.

And my shame is swelling at the thought that I only became aware of this by spying, as a furtive thief in the night; taking possession of secrets not mine, that I have no title to.

_But, I did it, so now I understand._

Now I know what may lie hidden within the hearts of Vulcans, behind their wintry masks.

I look at this woman, marvellous and passionate.

(*_Behind your mask, sweet lady!_*)

--------------

"T'Pol!"

--------------

The man is speaking again, his voice unsteady with pain, a pain also revealed in his eyes. Pain and . . . shame, like—_I know_— are in mine as well.

He forcefully squeezes the woman's hands.

--------------

"T'Pol! No. You're not the problem I don't want to hear this crazy talk. I'm sorry I criticized your hair. It was stupid. Don't even think . . . not even remotely . . . of doing anything like what you said! I love you heart and soul; I am madly in love with you; I love everything about you—as a whole; your mind, your soul, your body; from your beautiful little feet to those marvellous . . . **marvellous!** . . . tips of your ears! And I want to spread it around, I want to shout to the universe my love for you; my happiness because you have chosen me; my pride because you are mine! I want to scream at the world: Look here, y'all! _**This woman, this gorgeous, wonderful woman, lovely and smart, unique and incomparable, the most beautiful woman of the universe… this woman... is ... my wife!"**_

"Trip!"

--------------

Now I can feel it perfectly! I have tears in my eyes and there is a lump in my throat. Because my emotions have been stirred too much. I am overcome with emotion!

--------------

"But instead, NO! Oh sure. Our superiors have consented to let us marry. But they did it reluctantly, only after the Captain and Soval pulled some strings!"

--------------

(*_Soval! The Vulcan Ambassador!_*)

--------------

"And I had to sit there and listen while they dictated policy about our personal lives: '_Commander, you have to understand. It is better if the knowledge of your wedding isn't made public._'"

--------------

Now the Commander is sardonic, mimicking a certain pompous official. This comes off amusing, despite the emotion of the moment.

--------------

"Trip, the Admiral was only . . . "

--------------

I was right! And the lady also seems amused, if I'm not mistaken. This man is really incredible! How many emotions and feelings he is capable of arousing, one after other, and even simultaneously! I think I can understand why the Vulcan heart of this woman is beating for him. It would be difficult for any woman to turn a deaf ear to such a man. It is obvious this generalization extends even to the Vulcan females. Moreover, Vulcan ears are noted for their keen hearing. And, *I smile*, these peculiar pointed ears are central to this entire story . . .

--------------

"I can still hear the Admiral's words: _'As you know. Your situation is delicate. Of course our secret is already compromised, as your crewmates already believe you were. . .living as man and wife . . . on Enterprise. But otherwise your marriage should be revealed on a "need to know" basis. This applies both on Earth and on Vulcan. In fact, not only your marriage, but the romantic relationship itself must be hidden. Only some people will be told and Starfleet High Command shall decide whom."_

"Ashayam, the Admiral was right. "

"I know. And I know you and I must be grateful to him for allowing a Honeymoon. But… it's sad."

"Ashayam…"

"It's sad that people must hide when they would want to shout their joy at the sky."

"Ashayam . . ."

"And it's sad . . . that it is women and men of my species who have driven us to this."

"Ashayam, please . . ."

"It's sad… and I ashamed that humans, humans like me, prefer to be ignorant . . . If they even bothered to spent time with a Vulcan . . . they'd learn . . . how wonderful some Vulcans can be . . . how wonderful YOU are.

"Trip!"

"Sometimes I'm ashamed of this species!"

"Trip! NO!"

--------------

(*I feel the same shame, Commander. I feel shame and endless sadness for a love so splendid and . . . so forbidden.*)

--------------

"I . . ."

"**Trip!**"

--------------

(*_Oh boy!_*) Now the woman is completely leaning towards the Commander, her body practically over the table, stretching out her arm to tenderly lay a hand on his cheek, utterly forgetful of the place and her Vulcan-being.

--------------

"_**Ashayam, your species has given birth to you!**_"

--------------

Her voice is soft and firm.

--------------

"If Earth never gives me anything else, **my T'hai'la, it gave me you.** So, I must be forever indebted to your world."

--------------

I withdraw suddenly and quickly. I am overwhelmed. I no longer can withstand this talk, this scene.

I rest my back against the wall, leaning my head backwards on it and shutting my eyes.

Suddenly I realize I am taking possession of something extremely intimate, something that belongs to them and only to them.

I saw the inner face, hidden, secret and private, of a woman in love. The face that only her man has the right to know.

But I wanted to know, and now I know.

I now share the sensations and the feelings of a very deep love, greater and stronger than _everyone and everything;_ capable of nullifying the chasm between two distant races, the space between two distant worlds.

I now know the splendour of a love that evidently had dared to exist and to persist despite _everyone and everything._

A love tinged with soft gloom, because it must be only a soft murmuring, whereas it should be a shout, **a melodious song,** of pride and of joy, sung at the top of the lungs, strong and clear and powerful, in the sun, in the air, in the wind.

_But it is a murmuring, which is capable of deafening you, if you are capable of hearing it._ As did I.

Now it's too late.

Now I know.

And now . . . I want to know more . . .

I _must_ know more.

I straighten, a slightly false smile on my face.

By now I cannot stop.

And I don't want to.

Because I've become an _addict_ to this couple, to their love.

I want to, I _must_ continue my . . . observation.

--------------

"Honey . . ."

--------------

The man's voice is a whisper.

His left hand is placed now on the right hand of the woman, which is still on his cheek.

--------------

"Stop it, T'hai'la, please. Stop it!"

--------------

I have never heard a woman's voice more burdened with affection, with devotion, with pure love than the voice of this woman as she is saying these words.

She resumes her composure, settling back to her chair, her hand reluctantly relinquishing the cheek of the man.

She lays her hands in her lap and remains silent for a while, her head lowered like her eyes, almost like a shy girl, slightly abashed—I think of the very passionate tone and emotional behaviour I've witnessed—_not exactly appropriate for a Vulcan, as we all know._

Then she raises her look, to gaze intently at her man.

--------------

"I understand your desires. And, believe me Ashayam, your desires are my desires . . ."

--------------

Her voice is barely audible, slightly . . . quavering.

--------------

"But . . ."

--------------

She shuts her eyes slowly.

--------------

"But . . ."

--------------

Her eyes, again open, are soft, moist as the eyes of a gazelle.

--------------

"Vulcans also have needs . . ."

--------------

The man is as immobile as a statue, a white, frozen waxwork, totally hanging on her lips.

--------------

"And . . . I . . . need you . . ."

--------------

(*_May God strike me dead!_*)

--------------

"I couldn't even imagine my life without you!"

--------------

(*_May God strike me dead! Twice!_*)

--------------

"Someone, _someone you know very well,_ told me I would feel this way one day, and they were right."

--------------

The Commander nods, lightly. Then he stretches out both his hands on the table, the palms up and the Vulcan without hesitancy puts her own hands into his, to let him tenderly squeeze them.

The gaze between them is a burning flame, which dims the candlelight.

--------------

"Our . . . worst enemies . . . were destroyed, I know."

--------------

The woman continues to speak, with a voice now quieter and firmer, gripping hands with her man, who is carefully listening.

--------------

"Lieutenant Reed . . ."

-------------

(*_Lieutenant Reed… This evening is evening of legendary names._*)

-------------

" . . . Malcolm . . . unearthed them, one at a time, as he had been swearing. But . . ."

-------------

Now there is quaver in her voice, again; again her eyes are shutting.

-------------

"But . . . I perfectly remember the words of their leader, when . . ."

"T'Pol . . ."

" . . . when he was proclaiming his deadly hatred for you . . ."

"_T'Pol . . ._"

-------------

(*_Vulcans don't feel fear. The whole universe knows it. So, why now is her voice plainly betraying fear? _*)

-------------

"…when he was shouting that his spirit, their spirit, wouldn't die, wouldn't find peace . . . until . . ."

"**T'Pol…**"

-------------

(*_That's is NOT fear! That's is TERROR! _*)

-------------

" **. . . until your death!"**

-------------

**That's is nearly a shriek choked with panic!**

-------------

"**T'Pol…**"

"**I DON'T WANT TO . . . I CANNOT LOSE YOU!"**

-------------

(*_My God! MY GOD!_ *) - Her eyes are wide, her hands are spasmodically clenching his!

-------------

"**I…**"

"**That never will happen, because . . . **"

-------------

Now the man speaks firmly, with certainty and . . . (*_yes!_*) . . . authority! tightening his grip round his wife's hands.

-------------

". . . because **you are my destiny!**"

-------------

The Vulcan holds her breath, and so do I.

-------------

"**I already told you that . . . **_**once!**_"

-------------

She is motionless, her gaze locked to his.

-------------

"That _you_ are my destiny . . . not death.

-------------

I can't entirely understand! But I understand well enough that they are sharing something deep and intimate and transcendent.

The tension is tangible. But then the Commander's features soften.

He smiles, sweetly, reaching out to stroke the woman's cheek.

-------------

"Enough, sweetheart! We've had too much emotion for one evening. Must be the wine. We should stop. This isn't good for you!"

-------------

**Never I will forget this sight. **

_**The Vulcan female, eyes shut, is brushing her cheek against the fingertips of her love, with a dreamy expression!**_

-------------

"No…"

-------------

She says this word in a small voice.

-------------

"I can control all my emotions . . . with your help. Except for one . . ."

-------------

She slowly opens her eyes, still manifestly relishing the touch of his fingers.

-------------

". . . _**The one I don't care to control . . .**_"

-------------

This most passionate declaration of love, said without saying anything. Nearly heartbreaking in its softness.

I cannot remove my gaze from these two, staring one at other, hands again entangled, lost in their dream of love.

_**He, Human. **_

_**She, Vulcan.**_

So close one to other . . .

So linked one with the other . . .

So deeply, passionately fond of one another . . .

And . . .

And . . .

. . ._Slowly, an idea is forming in my mind._

How much I would like to find a way to show these two they are _not_ alone; _not_ wrong. That they are _not_ an anomaly . . . an ugly thing . . . that has to be concealed.

**How much I would like to find a way to let them know that people **_**do**_** exist who would rejoice at their wedding, be happy for them in their happiness.**

(*_How much I would like to find a way to make you aware, sweet Vulcan Lady, that here on Earth there are people capable of noticing the beauty of your soul!_*)

How much I would like to be able to _do_ something!

I . . .

I hear the man softly chuckling, as if clearing his throat.

Still fondly watching his wife, he attempts a teasing tone, evidently to slacken the taut emotion of the moment. For the Vulcan's sake, but maybe for his own.

-------------

"Well, babe, I'm glad. I was beginning to worry that your . . . extraordinary expressiveness tonight . . . was the fault of the wine."

"Don't joke, Ashayam, please . . ."

-------------

Gripping his hand tightly, the woman is fixing her eyes to his with an intensity I ever could have believed of a Vulcan.

And softly, lowly . . . _pleading_ . . . she repeats.

-------------

"Don't joke about this!"

-------------

The Commander opens his mouth halfway, as to say something—then closes his lips. He tenderly looks up, reciprocating her grip. At last he speaks.

-------------

"OK, my love! I won't tease anymore! And, frankly, I no longer care to talk of this other nonsense, which I've already banished from my brain!"

-------------

Her hands still in his, the woman deliciously raises an eyebrow, creating, together with her inquiring look, the most delightful sight you might ever see. The Commander's voice now is serious and deep:

-------------

"One person. Nobody. A hundred thousand . . . What does it matter who or how many other people know? The important thing . . . _**it's us! You and me!**_"

"**Yes** . . . my Ashayam . . . You and me!"

-------------

But . . . Vulcans . . . are said to be emotionless. Their faces are always deadpan; their voices, monotonous and dull. Logic and the self-control are their imperative, . . . we all know that.

So, in this case, how is it that one unique and simple word—that "YES", so quietly uttered—is capable of suggesting such rich and powerful feelings?

Acceptance, total and joyous, proud and absolute. And delight… yes… delight… All this, and more, it is clearly resounding in that word!

And this incredibly lucky man, is continuing to speak, his eyes eagerly drinking in his sweetheart.

-------------

"The important thing, T'Pol, is we are here, _together._"

"Yes, Ashayam."

"The important thing is that we **are** together."

"I agree."

"The really important thing is that we **are married and this is our Honeymoon!."**

"Yes."

"And that you have, and forever will have, my heart!

"Trip?"

. . . And the _really_ important thing is that . . ."

"You have and forever will have . . . mine!"

-------------

By now I am not even paying attention to the moisture in my eyes. I wipe them, unconsciously, and silently blow my nose.

Vulcans claim they don't feel emotions, anxiety, or . . . love . . . But they lie! Apparently they are capable of a _great deal of love,_ with their . . . _T'hai'la_ or . . . _Ashayam,_—if I am guessing the meaning of these terms.

(*_Like I see in this case, Sweet Vulcan lady. You display passion here in this place, descretely, while hiding from the curious! But if you display such passion with your lover while you and he are truly alone, without fear and without restraints . . . well then, Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker, the Third!, you are __**the luckiest man in the galaxy **_*)

But the lady continues:

-------------

"_The really important thing, my T'hai'la . . . my Ashayam . . . my beloved . . . my . . . husband, is our . . . is our . . ._"

" . . . love."

-------------

And so the Human finishes for her, uttering the word a Vulcan might not be able to pull from her soul into the open air. But surely its intimate essence blazes like a red-hot flame in her heart.

(*_ . . . in both your hearts . . .*_)

-------------

"But then, Thylia,. . . I believe, eventually, most of our friends and allies will be aware of our marriage, in spite of Starfleet orders."

-------------

This time it is the Commander who is raising his eyebrow, fixing a puzzled look at his Vulcan wife. Though her voice is teasing, he is sitting absolutely composed, her forearms politely placed upon the table.

-------------

"In my experience, no love can remain a secret once Hoshi knows of it."

-------------

A fish. That's the Commander face. And mine.

-------------

"You . . . you are joking!?!"

"Vulcans don't joke."

"Oh sure, T'Pol! You don't joke, just like your ears are '_exactly like those of every other Vulcan'!"_ **

-------------

(*_Wonders never cease._*) At this bantering, the woman's cheeks tone slightly to emerald green. She is blushing according to the color of her blood!

-------------

"Don't mind me, darling. I'm a rascal. But you like that about me. Don't you?

-------------

Now the Commander winks impishly, adding,

-------------

"It would be illogical to deny it."

-------------

The Vulcan gives a heavy sigh.

-------------

"Just as I have learned humour from you, there is hope that you may master the wisdom of Surak, even if…"

"Even if?"

-------------

(*_Even if?_ *).

-------------

". . . . it is a truly _desperate_ undertaking!"

-------------

The man's laugh is like thunder, and I must restrain myself from joining him. This proves all the more difficult given the sight of these two: he openly laughing and she sitting absolutely composed, deadpan, both eyebrows now raised, watching quietly, but with a sparkle in her eyes more eloquent than any laugh.

Finally he recovers and looks to his mate, clearly amused and—well—pleased.

-------------

"Oh darling, these jokes are okay, . . . but your delivery is perfect! And don't worry. I think a little of Surak's logic has rubbed off on me."

"And what does that mean?"

"Well, for example, I am convinced it would be most logical to get back to our food before it gets completely cold. If we don't appear to be eating it, the maître come ask if we're all right, . . . and grab another opportunity to admire you."

-------------

(*_Yes, Commander. You really are a rascal. But . . . you are right!_*)

His wife watches him, eyes amused, and I am sure her lips are curling up in a hint of a smile.

Then she nods lightly and both return to their dinner, in silent companionship.

Well . . .

And now I believe I have seen and heard enough and, frankly, I don't think anything else (*_ahem_*) . . . important . . . will transpire.

My observation is ended.

Slowly I close the panel and start unrolling the thread of my thoughts.

Tonight a universe was disclosed to me. An universe of love, whose existence I never suspected. Beautiful. Tender. Sweet. Deep.

_Hidden! Forbidden!_

This last, the fault of a handful of rouge Humans, with rotting minds, whose ridiculous ideas could take root and destroy the wonderful dream of these two!

_And, maybe, more!_

It is unfair!

Oh certainly . . .

I know I can't change anything.

And nevertheless, . . . perhaps something may be done . . .

A sign . . .

Something . . . I don't know…

(*_Something to make you both conscious that Humans are capable of noticing and understanding the loftiness and greatness of a true love . . . ! _*)

A sign of friendship, of nearness . . . a sign to make them aware they are _not alone._

I don't know . . .

Maybe . . . something distinctively our own, that comes from Humans . . . but might become hers . . .

A sort of gift, whose meaning is clear to both, without needing words . . . A gift which says, "I understood and I am here, with you, Commander Tucker, and . . . with you, sweet T'Pol of Vulcan, _Queen of Love! _"

What was I thinking of . . . ?

Maybe . . .

_Ah, yes!_

(* . . ._This love should be a melodious song, of pride and of joy, sung at the top of the lungs, strong and clear and powerful… in the sun, in the air, in the wind . . .*_)

_In the sun, in the air, in the wind . . . _

_Perhaps . . . also in the night?_

Maybe . . . maybe . . .

Well . . . Mmmh . . . (*_ . . .Something that is our own that may also be hers . . . A gift that is customary here to give a woman in love . . . _*)

Mmmh…Commanders… I am an Old Italian waiter, a snoop, but just to a point.

_So, I am curious._

Oh yes!

_But I am also an Old Italian __**sentimental**__ waiter; and also an heir of Macchiavelli and of . . . Verdi, and Rossini, and Vivaldi, and Puccini, and Bellini, and Mascagni, and . . . _

_Machiavelli already got what he needed tonight, even if he will probably want something yet. (I may need something Machiavellian in order to carry out my plan.)_

I smile, a mischievous sneer.

(*_I am sorry, Commander. I need to know something else. And, for that, I must converse with you . . .and bring desert . . . and, yes, . . . admire your wife. __*_)

* * *

**Honeymoon Evening  
End of ****the first scene of Part One**

* * *

_I just don't know what this Old waiter plans to do!  
Wagers will be accepted!  
If we looked for a moral in this story, well...  
Maybe the moral is this: Watch out for meddling waiters in Italy.  
But... don't worry . They are discreet, too.  
And, after all, I don't believe they could do anything bad.  
Quite the reverse!  
Especially if … well… they are inspi__red by pair of large female eyes (chocolate-coloured, if you wish, but it works as well with blue, green, black . . or purple) and a pair of legs such as… those! _

* * *

_**** This is a reference to my story "Honeymoon Morning".**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Honeymoon Evening **_

_**Honeymoon Journey (and Delights) – Day One**_

**By Asso**

* * *

**Part One ****- The Dinner **

**(scene two) **

* * *

My friends…  
Do you remember my close at the ending of Chapter One??  
_I just don't know what this Old waiter plans to do!  
Wagers will be accepted!  
Etc, etc, etc... _  
**OKAY! Now we will see the winner! **  
Uhm... better if I don't exaggerate, isn't it so?  
Above all if you think that, in the second part, another Italian guy is involved! (Oh yes… from bad to worse!)  
I don't say anything about **Rating** and **Genre**, because they are the same of the Part One; and, obviously: Enterprise is owned by Paramount, not me. No infringement intended, no profit made.  
But something must be added by me.  
Please, listen to me!  
This time I must thank two Betas: **JustTripn** began and **Linda** ended (honestly, Linda did the most job, **a great job**, exactly like JustTripn did — I believe you agree with me, justTripn).  
_But which better thing for an Italian male than to be pampered by two women like these? _  
**PARADISE!**  
———————————

_**Note:**__ The words in italic between_ (*___*) _represent the thoughts (Once more!), and the words in italic between_ º___º _represent… well! I'm sure you will understand! _

* * *

_**Premise**_

_At this time our two newlyweds are in the middle of their romantic honeymoon dinner.  
We left them while the maître was plotting his plan._

_And now this infernal man is ready._

_Come on! I believe all of you want to see what the devil will happen. __(Well... I hope!)_

* * *

_**Scene Two

* * *

**_

"Madam, Sir. Is everything all right?"

Continuing with my plan, I am again standing in front of the table of "my couple", showing the most pleasant smile . . . and, obviously, grabbing another opportunity to admire the Commander's wife, because . . . well, as for his idea about me . . . _**The Guest always is right! **_

And it seems to me that now the woman is somehow different from earlier.

I don't know . . .

Maybe because now I can see and appreciate not only her physical . . . gifts, but also her inner beauty, her sweetness and . . . her passion.

Maybe it's due to the wine she has drunk . . . or . . . . who knows the devil why . . .

In any case, I could swear that, at this point, though she is showing her imperturbable and seraphic public mask, she glows with an inner fire!

(*_Oh enough now! Remember! You have a task to accomplish! _*)

"Well! Welcome back, maître! We were missing you."

I watch the Commander's face.

His eyes are amicably sparkling, perhaps saying "I am pulling your leg."

(*_Okay! Keep cool! Think what you have to do! _*)

Ignoring the woman's amused glance and with a sardonic giggle sounding in my mind, I speak politely and quietly to the man.

"I am pleased, Sir. May I ask if Madam and you appreciated my suggestions?"

"Very much."

"I am very glad, Sir. I ask your permission to have the honour of waiting on you personally to serve your Pecan Pie with your Vin Santo of Chianti, for the dinner's end. May I, Madam, Sir?"

"Of course."

I nod, lightly, and then proceed.

I cut the pecan pie on the dumb-waiter, taking off from it two slices, neither too great nor too small.

I place each slice on one dish and serve first the lady and then the man. I pour the right quantity of Vin Santo in two goblets, one for each of my guests, and place them at the sides of their dishes.

Finally I straighten, observing my couple, while they are tasting the wine, and I wait discreetly for their judgment.

A swift glance shoots between them. As if the man is searching for the woman's approval, and she for his.

And now I well understand.

(*_Yes, I now know there is no need for words between them. Too deep, fond, full of love, is this… bond… they have and share; by which they are linked and blended._ *)

Once more it's shining on the lady's face that fascinating smiling/non-smiling look of warm assent towards her man, which so drew my curiosity and my interest this evening that caused me to do what I did.

That convinced me to pursue this particular course of action.

The Commander looks at me, smiling, glad.

"Good, Sir?" – I can't resist – "Does Madam enjoy it?"

Puzzled eyes on his face, he answers me, slightly uncertain.

"Yes . . . "

(*_ Now! This is the moment! _*)

"I am very pleased of that, Sir; that you both enjoyed the dinner." — (*_Come on! _*) – "I hope you also had the opportunity to tour our magnificent town. I'm sure you both appreciate" — I smile with an air of complicity — "how the food, the wine, complements the romantic atmosphere of this place."

Once more I am crossing my fingers behind me.

Am I acting a little bit too cheekily?

Will the Commander, exuberant and gregarious, swallow my bait?

And the woman? How will she react to my invasiveness?

I know well how Vulcans are jealous of their privacy, and, although _**this**_ is without a doubt a really extraordinary Vulcan . . . well! She is still a Vulcan! My hope is that this . . . bond . . . between them, of which I've recently become aware, may make her a little bit more sympathetic and softer than other Vulcans, as it seems from the conversation I have . . . _ahem_ . . . overheard.

"Your town is . . . wow . . . it's amazing!"

(*_It has gone smoothly! _*)

Self-satisfied, I look at the openly smiling face of the Commander.

I did my sums right, and his wife, albeit with her regal air, seems to be reverberating her husband's sunny enthusiasm, enjoying his delight like it was her own sunshine.

(*_Okay! Slow speed ahead, carefully and wisely! _*)

"Your words fill me with true pleasure, Sir. I hope your sojourn continues to be most pleasant for you and Madam."

(*_Wait and see what I am leading to! _*)

"Nah! Unfortunately, we two leave tomorrow. Just 12 more hours to savour the Tuscan experience and then we're outta here."

(*_**Oh shit! I have only this night! All right! I have to risk everything! Full speed ahead! **_*)

"Oh Sir! My displeasure is great! I would have liked to have had you and Madam back again as our guests. Surely I could have convinced you to try something else from our menus of Tuscany's vegetarian dishes. Well, I hope – (*_**Come on! **_*) – at least you don't leave our town without having watched the spectacle played during these evenings at Boboli gardens."

"Spectacle?"

"Yes, Sir. A great spectacle" – (*_**Now there! Carry on! **_*) – "It's an Opera, precisely, as we say in Italy, an Opera Buffa, a Comic Opera. Played in the true Italian fashion by some among the most famous opera singers of the world. Above all, the best lyric tenor of nowadays, the authentic heir of Enrico Caruso, Beniamino Gigli, Tito Schipa, Mario Del Monaco, Giuseppe Di Stefano, Luciano Pavarotti, Andrea Bocelli. It's Vittorio*********, whom our town has the privilege to host, because he is playing the lead, Nemorino, of this Opera. L'Elisir d'Amore. The Elixir of Love, by Gaetano Donizetti."

I can swear it. A gleam of . . . _something_ . . . has passed into the eyes of the Vulcan woman. _When I said: The Elixir of Love. _

(*_Okay! Trust your hunch, your perceptiveness. __**It's do or die! **_*)

"The story is very light, as surely Madam and you, Sir, well know. Nothing more than a jocular play for showing how in love's path _any_ elixir it's useless. Because true love conquers all. There are no obstacles for it."

I square my shoulders and my head, staring steadily at them, my face and my expression sure and firm, my voice strong and assertive.

"In the end, it's always triumphant. And no one, no thing can shatter it or hide it!"

This time, I am absolutely certain. There in the woman's eyes. It is not just the gleam of the candle. Her look is attentive, and . . . deep, locked with mine.

Like that of the man.

I smile, apologetically.

"Oh, sorry! Madam, Sir . . . I beg you to forgive my ardour! It's my old sentimental Italian heart, which sometimes drives me to speak and to act in this way. And my love for Opera." My whole face is beaming a smile. "I believe this spectacle could be very agreeable for Madam and for you, also considering the really . . . – (*_**Come on! Come on! **_*) – _romantic _. . . atmosphere of the venue, Boboli gardens, as I already mentioned."

"Oh . . . I . . . I . . . "

The Commander darts a sidelong, muzzy glance at the woman, who reciprocates with a confused, stunned stare. The commander shakes himself.

"Yes, … in fact we would like to watch this Opera. Sure! But . . . I mean . . ."

"But, Sir?

"Well! We didn't make a reservation for this spectacle and it's probably too late now. And even if we could get tickets, the thing starts too soon; we'd never make it."

"Oh, no Sir. No problem about that!"

My voice is absolutely… suave, as is my face.

"You can be sure I will have no difficulty getting you two front row seats! And also believe me, you don't need to worry about arriving late."

Now my voice and my face are not simply suave. I am the true picture of trustworthy assurance.

"The spectacle won't begin immediately, and I would be pleased to offer you our staff car, to drive Madam and you to Boboli gardens perfectly in time. If you agree, I will immediately take care of all that, while you eat your dessert, so that everything can be ready at your dinner's end."

Another quick glance between my two . . . protégés. A glance (*_It's so! _*) of irresolution and . . . unexpressed desire.

(*_Come on, children! Don't be so half-hearted and timorous! After all, you are Space Conquerors! _*)

"Well. . . I don't know what to say. This is really generous. . . too generous. I don't know. . . "

It's the Commander who is speaking for both them, as he usually does, his wife clearly trusting him.

"Yes, Sir?"

"I'm worried because after the show, we . . . want . . . I mean we need . . . . to get right back to the hotel . . . "

**Ah, how splendid is love! **

". . . you know . . . to pack and stuff," the commander finishes lamely, shooting a worried glance at his wife.

Absolutely deadpan, I observe the Commander's blushing face, frankly betraying his inner thoughts. No different from those of his wife, judging by the slight change of colour I also see in her cheeks.

**Ah yes! How splendid is love! **_**For Humans and… Vulcans. **_

(*_I deliver a last blow! _*)

"I well understand, Sir. But, if you allow me, we would have no problem conveying you and your w . . ." — (*_OOOPS! _*) – "um . . . Madam to your hotel, immediately after the Opera. Only, I request" – I cross my fingers behind me, the third time, tonight – "you be so kind as to tell me your hotel, so that I can schedule everything."

The man stares at me, a strange look in his eyes. Puzzled, questioning, eager, and . . . also somewhat suspicious.

My expression is angelic.

My fingers are still crossed behind me.

"**I've never watched an Opera. **"

The Commander and I both turn our heads towards the Vulcan at these words, uttered by her with a quiet, calm, and yet odd, tone. As if she means more than she is saying.

Unconsciously, the corners of my lips are bending up with a slight smile of smugness.

(*_Very well, Milady! You don't disappoint me! _*)

The woman's eyes are fixed on those of the man, while she continues with purpose.

"You know I find music quite . . . intriguing. But, as for live music, I have heard only jazz."

A rapid shutting of her eyelids, while her husband frowns.

(*_What means that? Oh, well! No matter, now. _*)

Her eyes again open, staring steadily into the eyes of her man, the Vulcan speaks yet, her voice still quiet and calm, but very low, almost a whisper.

"I wish to watch this Opera. This . . ."

A look at her man I shall never forget.

" . . . Elixir of Love . . ."

It has gone well! Done! I am sure! No man can be deaf to desires of his woman. **Certainly not this man! **

I smile myself.

I played my cards well.

Because . . . women are women, anywhere they are born.

(*_Yes. Thank heavens, women are women... Human, Vulcan, or whatever they are. They are just... women!_*)

My inner smile has become a bright laugh.

(*_And, thank heavens, they exist . . . Thank you, God, for that removed rib! _*)

"Oh… Sure… Of course… Yes… You… I… We…"

I look discretely at the stammering man.

(*_Ah, Commander! You can't escape! She's your mistress! _*)

His mouth snaps shut, his stunned eyes on the face of his wife, who reciprocates his stare, totally composed, absolutely Vulcan in her pose.

**And totally, absolutely, **_**marvellously**_**... feminine. **

Then, he raises his eyes to me. Resigned and… glad.

"A… all right."

He pulls out a slip of paper from his pocket and hands it me.

"This is the address of our hotel. I am confused. What brought this on? But, we . . . thank you for your kindness."

I catch the slip of paper.

"Very well, Sir." — (*_This is done! Now… the rest. _*) — "I beg you to continue your dinner. Meanwhile, I will take care of your . . . after-dinner entertainment."

I bow and leave them to their pecan pie.

I look at the slip of paper and read the name and address of their hotel.

A satisfied grin broadens on my face.

(*_Excellent! It will be very easy. I will have no problems, in this respect. _*)

A few minutes, and I have done what I needed to do.

I watch my couple from afar.

They have finished eating and are quietly talking, gazing one at the other, holding hands.

Yes, hands in hands, as every normal couple in love does, during their honeymoon dinner.

Tonight, no Vulcan, M'lady... no Human, Commander.

Tonight, only a man and a woman, in love.

I relish the tenderness they evoke in me.

They are . . . cuddly.

Where is Enterprise now? Where the worthy engineer who destroyed the spheres, in the Expanse? The indomitable hero, conqueror of space? Where is the cold, emotionless, indifferent Vulcan female, that we stupid Humans expect? Sweet, splendid lady of love. Where now is the world for you two? What is this world? YOU TWO . . . together . . . are in this moment, the whole world . . . the whole universe.

Eros doesn't care, where his arrows go . . . what heart they strike.

And when his arrows strike . . . no other thing exists except he, Eros . . . **LOVE. **

I see the man raising his head and looking around, like he is searching for something, and I shake myself out of my thoughts.

(*_Okay, Commander. Don't worry. All ready. I'm here. _*)

I approach them. They notice it and turn to me.

"Madam, Sir. I presume you are through with your dessert? I hope the pecan pie was to your taste, considering it is . . . a little bit foreign to our Chef. Yes? I am glad. Now, I don't wish you to rush you, but please . . . if you don't want to be late for the Opera. Everything is done and ready. I ask you to follow me."

The Commander stands up and steps near his wife.

I observe him while, as a perfect gentleman, he proffers his hand, to help her to get up, she naturally accepting his gesture, taking his hand with her own, with blatant pleasure.

And I watch the amorous, protective way he wraps around her bare shoulders the gauzy shawl she had put down on the armrest of her chair, at their arrival.

And the serene gladness she shows, while manifestly wallowing in his tender attentions.

Nothing strange, is it?

For a normal couple in love.

But I know what I know.

I know she is a Vulcan female.

And she joyously relishes all this.

Why?

Maybe as result of the torments they suffered together, and of which I now am somewhat aware?

Maybe because this is a Vulcan female different from other women of her race?

Maybe because she has been with humans too long. And she is becoming like us.

Perhaps.

Perhaps these things matter. All of them. More or less.

But I think ONE fact above all other explains things.

They are in love with each other.

And love doesn't care about races, don't know any boundaries, couldn't give a damn about . . . logic . . . and logical behaviours!

I speak. "Please. Madam, Sir. This is the way."

I am leading them towards the service elevator, they following me, arm in arm.

I let them enter the lift and then press the right button for the highest level, the roof.

The lift's doors open in the sweet coolness of the evening.

They exit the elevator – with me right behind – and stare stunned at the . . . vehicle . . . waiting for them.

I smile mischievously and proudly – I must admit – pointing at the powerful "means of conveyance" before us. "This is our . . . staff car. It's ready for you. I think you will be not late. It will be waiting for you at Opera's end, to bring you to your hotel. Please climb aboard."

They turn their heads, casting a dubious look upon me.

I understand.

Who am I?

Am I a friend or an enemy?

I well remember their talk . . . her fear . . . during the dinner.

I have no way to induce them to trust me . . . except, perhaps, for one.

I stare steadily into the eyes of the woman.

She is Vulcan.

She can feel beyond human limits. I think.

My look speaks.

(*_**I am . . . your friend! **_*)

She fixes her eyes upon me, for awhile.

Then, she gazes at her husband, squeezing his hand, and leads him to the . . . car.

They board it.

She as first, he helping her from behind.

And once more her beauty strikes me.

I hadn't been able yet to appreciate this peculiar . . . rear view!

(*_Oh enough! Is it possible I always have this nail on my brain? I . . . But, hell, what a behind! Well, Commander. It's useless I deny it. How much I envy your . . . position! _*)

The vehicle's doors close, taking away of my view him and . . . of her, and then it . . . takes off.

I watch it, while it becomes more and more small, against the background of a dark sky studded with stars.

It seems to me that it is carrying my couple towards their destiny.

_**Towards the stars. **_

I shake myself.

(*_All right. So far so good. Now, the remainder. _*)

I take my mobile communicator.

I ask for an address.

"Hello? Vittorio? . . . Yes! It's me! . . . Yeah, yeah! I am fine! And you? . . . Okay! Good! . . . Oh, sure! I indeed want to watch your performance, but, you know, I am very busy. Always. Sooner or later, sooner or later I will do it. Sure! . . . Ahem . . . Vittorio? Please, Vittorio . . . listen to me . . . I have . . . a great favour to ask you . . ."

* * *

**Honeymoon Evening  
End of Part ****1**

* * *

_And now we have to see what it happen__ during "The After-Dinner Evening."_

_Do you want to follow me?_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Honeymoon Evening **_

_**Honeymoon Journey (and Delights) – Day One**_

**By**** Asso**

* * *

**Part Two - The After-Dinner Evening**

**(Scene One)**

**

* * *

**

OK! Here we are. Now we will begin to disclose what that Old Italian waiter has planned for our unaware lovebirds.

_**Note:**__ The words in italic between_ (*___*) _represent the thoughts (Once more!), and the words in italic between_ º___º _represent… well! __I'm sure you will understand._

* * *

_**Premise**_

_It's decidedly darker, when Trip and T'Pol arrive to Boboli Gardens, for the spectacle, and the view of the Gardens is very romantic, that's a fact._

_Well... be careful, T'Pol!_

_Boboli Garden has been made over into an unusual theatre, and Trip and T'Pol are exactly at ringside, under a dark sky interspersed with stars._

_Oh yes! You must be very careful, T'Pol!_

**But now keep quiet, please! The spectacle begins!**

* * *

Where's this "unique" couple, as my friend Lapo, the "maître", said? There's no denying that I'm very curious.

I'm peeping at the audience from behind the curtain, while mulling over the words of my friend, during our long distance conversation.

º_Yeah, yeah, Vittorio! I know. My request is very strange, unusual. I know. You are right. But you know me very well. You know I never would do anything without any reason. Please, Vittorio, help me. Under the banner of our friendship. Just look at them and you will understand the why and wherefore of my request. No, no I am not mad. Well, not more than usual! What? How can you recognize them? Oh, don't worry! You will have no problem. You only must observe the people sitting in the front seats. They - she - will remain not unremarked, be sure! _º

I'm smiling to myself, remembering Lapo's way in describing the woman's aspect.

º_Gorgeous! Unique! Incomparable! _º

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera . . .

I'm perfectly aware of the fascination any bit of skirt is capable of stirring in my friend. Only platonic, sure! He loves his wife, immensely. But only I know how many times I had to appease her wrath, because of his "aesthetic appreciation of female features", as he says. Surely like this time.

º_Marvellous woman! Expression of ineffable grace! A veritable "Venus"! _º

Of course! Certainly! Once more he . . .

(*_**WOW! **_*)

By Jove! Is it she, by any chance?

Exactly in the midst of the first row there is sitting a woman . . . a woman . . . among the loveliest women I have ever seen!

Impossible for anyone, male or female, to take no notice of her.

I look at her body, tiny but very shapely and harmonious, hidden and yet skilfully unveiled by her dress, which, going up along her crossed legs, shows a generous helping of her well-turned thighs, just as her large and plunging neckline suggests without really revealing her buxom bosom, a soft and gauzy shawl wrapped around her toned shoulders, bare like her arms, resting mildly and composedly on her lap.

What an amazing . . . view!

º_Then, when you will have managed to pull up your mandible and to tear your eyes away from her curves, look at her face. º _

All of a sudden I quickly close my jaw, shutting my mouth, while realizing I have just done what my friend had told me I would have done.

And I lay my look on the woman's face.

_ºThe most beautiful woman's face that you ever saw. Soft, stern and yet sweet, perfect in her fine features. And that expression... Distant and yet tender. Unique. An expression, an air absolutely… º _

_(*__**...fascinating and regal! **__*) _

I shake my head, stunned in noticing I have used in my thought the same words Lapo did.

But I shouldn't be stunned, because I well know his ability to read and to understand people's minds. Not for anything he is "The Maître"!

So I simply sigh, lightly, while I turn my eyes on the man, listening again in my mind the talk's continuation of my friend.

_ºAnd when, finally, you will have finished stuffing your eyes of old and incorrigible male with her attractive sight, please observe the male who has the outrageous fortune to be really her male.__**Her man. **__º _

_(*Yeah, Lapo! I'm doing it! Are you glad? *) _

_ºHe's very handsome, that's undeniable. I'm sure that if you look around at the women sitting in the audience, you can see that a lot of female chests are deeply sighing, while the owners of these chests are glancing sidelong at him.º _

_(*Yes! It's just so, doggone devil of a man! *) _

_ºBut the matter is not this. I merely would like you watch him while he is looking by stealth at her, when he thinks she doesn't notice his glance. Observe, please, the pride and the endless, stunned bliss, which shines brightly in his eyes. º _

_(*When will you stop foreseeing my actions?!? And their?!? *) _

_ºAnd then look at her. See how she watches him, furtively, after his glances. Observe her sparkling eyes, while they are radiating pure and simple joy and happiness, in the utter awareness and in the glad and warm enjoyment of his… love! º _

All right! All right! All right! You… bloody damned of a…maître!_ - (*But why didn't Dante think about an infernal circle for maîtres? *) - _You were right! And once more you have been capable of dragging me into your crazy plans! But you must yet wait one moment. I want to see more, before I am completely surrendering to your ridiculous projects.

It's time to begin. The spectacle must start. I turn, for going to my spot. But, stronger than me, I feel the pressing need to watch them once again.

I turn my head to observe the couple one last time.

They are looking at one another. I see their lips are moving, as if speaking.

It looks from their faces as if she is asking and he is answering.

An utter reliance on her face, her hand now on his knee.

An all-loving protectiveness in his pose, his hand now on hers.

_(*She trusts him. __**Totally! **__She knows he will not deceive her. __**Never! **__*) _

_ºAnyway, please don't let the Opera begin late, because you keep on peeking at them! º _

I spring, abruptly!

_(*Damned, damned, damned maître! You're an authentic demon! Spitted out from Dante's hell-pits! __*) _

* * *

"Do you know this Opera, T'hai'la?"

"Yes, I do, Hon."

"I suspected it. I became aware of your knowledge of music since I heard you playing the guitar.* And I saw further evidence of it later. I remember when you swapped your harmonica."

"Well, I'm only a Sunday musician, but I love music and . . ."

" . . . and so you also have knowledge of Italian Operas."

"A teeny bit, yes."

"Like this one."

"Ahem . . . yes."

" T'hai'la, why are you uncomfortable?"

" I'm not, darling."

"T'hai'la, don't try to hide your sensations from me. You know it's impossible. I understood something was bothering you since when you attempted to avoid going to this spectacle."

"I didn't, Hon."

"You did."

"Honey . . ."

"You did. And frankly I don't understand the reason, as I was perfectly able to feel your wish to watch this Opera."

"Honey . . ."

"So?"

"Well . . . Ahem . . . You know . . . Tomorrow we must go away and get up early. I . . ."

"You?"

"I was thinking that . . . well . . . maybe we would have had not much time for . . . for . . ."

"For . . . the second night?"

"Oh . . . Yeah . . . sure . . ."

"T'hai'la, do you think I can deny anything to you? To my Ashayam?"

"Well . . . I . . ."

"That I don't enjoy our Honeymoon, in . . . every part?"

"Babe . . ."

"Didn't I give you an . . . adequate and satisfactory demonstration that I . . . share your wishes and your delight?"

"Darlin' . . ."

"Don't you think I might want . . . much more . . . of this peculiar part of our Honeymoon?"

"Uh . . ."

"And do you believe, by chance, that the . . . fervour . . . of our . . . intimacy . . . can be measured by its duration?"

"Sweetheart . . . "

"It was you yourself who taught all this to me. And I'm glad I have . . . learned."

"Sweetie . . ."

"T'hai'la . . . what is there's in this _Elixir of Love_ . . . that you don't want me to see?"

"Nothing can be hidden from you. Isn't that right, my . . . suspicious love?"

"So it's true. You don't want me to watch this specific Opera. Why?"

"Ah . . . There's a lot of Human nonsense. Stupid stuff, unworthy of a Vulcan female as smart as you are!"

"T'hai'la!"

"Yes, yes! It's true! Believe me, sweetheart!"

"Ashayam!"

"Seriously, T'Pol! I . . ."

"Trip! "

"Oookkay! Okay! Damn stubborn woman! Just thank your lucky stars, you're the owner of my heart!"

"Am I that, beloved?"

"Woman, you know it very well!"

"If I'm that, . . . please explain!"

"In this Opera, a story is narrated of a man who is suffering . . . torments, because of the . . . pigheaded refusal of the woman he loves . . . and who . . . loves . . . him."

"Oh!!"

"Ah, but it's only a light play, a pretext for the music, a . . ."

"Does . . . does this woman do . . . what I did . . . my Ashal-veh?"

"Mmmhhh nnno yyyessss! Maybe. But the man is wimpy, unconvincing, weak-willed. He's . . ."

"He's not like you, Ashayam. Isn't that correct?"

"Uh . . . I . . . you . . ."

"You were thinking I could have been . . . saddened . . . by this Opera."

"No, no! What are you crazy!?! I'm perfectly aware that Vulcans are unable to . . . "

" . . . be saddened? Is it so, Ashayam? Because they don't feel? . . . Vulcans? . . . like me??"

"Aaa . . . – **cough cough** – . . . aaahhh it begins! It's about to start! I think it's better that we be quiet and watch the spectacle!"

"Yes, you're right. It's better. But . . ."

"But?"

"Please, T'hai'la. When the light are turned off . . . give . . . give me your hand!"

————————————————————————————————————————

**_THE ELIXIR OF LOVE, by Gaetano Donizetti, begins._**

_**Act One, Scene I**_

GIANNETTA AND CHORUS

_Bel conforto al mietitore,  
quando il sol più ferve e bolle,  
sotto un faggio, appiè di un colle  
riposarsi e respirar! _  
_**It's harvester's comfort  
to rest and to breathe,  
under a beech, at feet of a hill,  
when sun blazes and boils! **_

………………………………………

………………………………………

………………………………………

_**Act One, Scene X**_

NEMORINO

_Mi sprezza il sergente, mi burla l'ingrata,  
zimbello alla gente mi fa la spietata.  
L'oppresso mio core più speme non ha.  
Dottore! Dottore!  
Soccorso! __Pietà. _  
_**Sergeant despises me.  
She, ungrateful, mocks me.  
She, ruthless, makes me laughing stock of the people.  
My oppressed heart no longer has hope.  
Doctor! Doctor! Help me! **__**Take pity on me! **_

**END OF ACT ONE**

————————————————————————————————————————

"Adina is… cruel."

"It's a playful game, Hon. That's all!"

"But she promised she will marry Sergeant Belcore. If it's true, as you taught me, that it's love that rules the choices in Earth's marriages, why does she want to do this? She doesn't love Belcore."

"To . . . spite Nemorino."

"It's . . . illogical. Maybe she doesn't . . . love Nemorino, but why should she marry Belcore to spite Nemorino?"

"Because she . . . loves Nemorino."

"I don't understand."

"Love is illogical, Hon. Adina didn't yet understand she loves Nemorino and she wants him to suffer to take revenge on him."

"Revenge for what?"

"Because he made her fall in love with him. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"I . . . don't understand."

"Don't worry. Not even Adina understands. But, in the end, she will."

"Won't she marry Belcore?"

"No. She will marry Nemorino, the man she truly loves. She won't give herself to another man; a man she doesn't love."

"Oh, good!"

"Well, Darling! It seems to me that tonight you are more and more speaking and acting like Humans do! Earlier, at the dinner . . . And now you are talking of love matters with a great interest and are showing a big deal of gladness for the happy end of this Opera, and . . ."

"T'hai'la… "

"Yes, Hon?"

"I . . . did."

"Did . . . what?"

"I . . . married another man."

"Honey!"

"I did it! And I caused your pain, and . . ."

"Hon! **You had to do it!** And I believe, even if Vulcans are capable of controlling their emotions, that you, too, have been hurt by your . . . forced wedding."

"I . . . I . . . Yes, T'hai'la . . . Also I suffered. Very much."

"So, you can see that the matter is totally different! Your wedding was . . . **T'POL!?!**"

"T'hai'la! What? What happened?"

"Your . . . your words!"

"What did I say?"

"You said you have married another man, causing my pain, and that you have been hurt in doing that."

"I said this, Ashayam. Yes."

"But . . . but . . . do you mean that at that time — not now . . . but just at that time — you . . . you . . . were . . . were wanting . . . a man who wasn't Koss . . . a man who was . . ."

"You, Ashayam. You!"

"T'Pol!"

"In those days I was . . . uncertain about what my . . . heart . . . was wanting. But now I know I asked you to come to Vulcan with me for . . . for . . ."

"T'Pol! My sweetest, sweetest love!"

"Instead I had to say goodbye to you!"

"Sweetheart!"

"You can't even imagine how much I was grateful and glad you wanted to be present at my . . . wedding!"

"Hon . . ."

"And then . . . when I knelt in front of Koss so as to perform the marriage ceremony, I . . . I felt like I . . . _was dying . . . _inside."

"T'Pol…"

"For the first time in my life I felt . . . desperation!

"Oh T'Pol!"

"For a moment I thought of invoking the Kali-fi!

"And why didn't you do it?"

"And lose even the possibility of seeing you? Koss could have killed you, and I would have lost you… forever!"

"Honey! I love you! Infinitely!"

"Also . . . at that time, T'hai'la?"

"What do you want to mean?"

"If you were . . . loving . . . me, why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you . . . stop me?"

"Darling . . . I . . . I told your mother the reasons why it wasn't possible for me to tell you anything."

"My mother?"

"Your mother was a great woman. She realized I had fallen in love with you, and she spurred me to open my heart to you."

"My mother . . . did this?"

"She did."

"And why didn't you do what she suggested you? And why didn't you tell me this . . . earlier?"

"And what ever could you have done? You could have refused to accept the marriage, losing your mother. Or you could have refused to accept my love, breaking my heart, if you weren't reciprocating my feelings. Or breaking both our hearts, if you were returning my love, and you were acting in that way because it was your duty."

"So, you did not tell me and did nothing to stop me for . . . for . . ."

"For love, my light!"

"For . . . love . . ."

"Love is to have. But above all . . . love is to give. How could I have made your difficult choice even more complicated? And made your path . . . maybe, sadder if you were feeling . . . something for me?"

"And, in spite of your feelings, you wanted to be present at my marriage? You chose to see the woman you . . . . loved, while . . ."

"While she was uniting her life to another man. **Not to me!** Honey, if, in that moment, you felt as you were dying inside . . . **I really died! **_**I was losing you, forever, the one and only woman I ever loved, and ever I will love! **_"

"Ashayam!"

"But I had to be there, with you!"

"T'hai'la . . ."

"I had to make you aware that I was understanding you, that I was close to you. That no matter what you could have thought or done . . . no matter what you could think or do, I was . . . I always will be with you. To support you, if you desire it; and to comfort you, if you want it!"

"You did put my needs before . . ."

"Your needs are my needs, sweetheart. This is a matter of fact!"

"Ashayam . . ."

"It's true I didn't tell you anything so far. But why should I have stirred again a pain, which fortunately no longer effects me? Tonight you asked and I answered. But enough, now. Now we are together, married. And I'm the happiest man in the universe."

"Do I make you… happy, T'hai'la? Truly?"

"How can you doubt about that?"

"So . . . I am not . . . as cruel . . . as Adina?!?"

"You're . . . what?"

"I caused your pain many times, T'hai'la. I rejected you many times . . . too many times. I have been stupid and stubborn. I denied my . . . feelings for you for such a long a time, too long a time. I . . ."

"T'Pol! Stop it!"

"I seduced you, and when you approached me, the morning after, to talk, I . . . I treated you as a lab rat!"

"T'Pol! You . . . you were . . . scared! Vulcans don't . . ."

"I persevered with my blind stubbornness even when we met . . . Lorian, and . . ."

"Honey! Shut up!"

"And when I began to understand the wishes of my soul, I dragged you along to my world only to provoke your greatest pain! Again!"

"Enough, T'Pol!"

"I can yet hear and . . . feel the disappointment, the bitterness of your voice when you told me that Romeo and Juliet had a greater chance than us."

"Honey, please, forgive me! You know how I'm made! I was angry and . . ."

"**And you were absolutely right! In a handful of hours I had destroyed your dreams. And mine! **"

"T'Pol! What in hell you rambling on about? You were unable . . .

"And afterwards? After the Kir'Shara's retrieval? After my recovered liberty? When finally we could have been together?"

"Sweetheart…"

"What did I think to do?"

"Hon . . ."

"I rejected you. Once more! I had to find . . . my true Vulcan-being! Yes! **My . . . Vulcan-being! **"

"But it was fair, T'Pol! You . . ."

"**Losing you! And making you suffer! Once again! **"

"But I, too, caused your pain, when I left you, with those burning words! And…"

"And wasn't I deserving that?"

"But, Honey! What hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying that even after I almost felt my heart breaking when I saw you dying because of that fatal viral disease . . . even at that moment I foolishly tried to ignore, to fight obstinately against your . . . and MY desires! So that you rightfully got angry with me… and did go away! Away . . . from me!"

"But I came back and . . ."

"Yes! You came back! In that way! Moving forward dangerously, holding a subtle thread between our two ships! Risking your life to save us from death. To save ME from death!"

"But, Darlin'! I had to do that! Otherwise you . . . oh . . . ah . . . I . . . I want to say . . . otherwise all of you were dead!"

"I was holding my breath, watching you proceed along that thread. I had to force myself to remain seated, to not leap out of my chair!"

"Oh T'Pol!"

"And then, when finally you were back . . . over again . . . _**OVER AGAIN!**_ I showed my stupid coldness . . ."

"But you're Vulcan, my love! The logic is your way. You can't . . ."

"What sort of logic can it be in denying what one is? What one wants? I was wanting you back, and only your threat to go away again forced me to say that I . . . I . . . was wanting you back!"

"Oh, but . . . Honey! You kissed me!"

"Finally I did at least one right thing!"

"Well! I must say . . . damn right!"

"No! Don't joke, T'hai'la!"

"Darlin' . . ."

"Don't joke, please! Because only the greatest pain I ever felt drove me at last to understand that I . . . **desperately . . .** need you! It had been necessary, the death of our daughter . . ."

"T'Pol!"

" . . . to confess to you my addiction…

"T'Pol, please! Stop!"

" . . . to bring me to accept the truth…"

"T'Pol! Please . . ."

" . . . that without you in my life, I'm . . . lost!"

"Oh God!

"I denied, **I denied, I denied! I made you suffer horribly! **_**I . . . I'm crueller . . . than Adina! **_"

"T'Pol! Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You rave!"

"T'hai'la . . ."

"You are T'Pol! My marvellous, splendid, incomparable T'Pol!"

"Ashayam . . ."

"You are the woman you are! The woman I love!"

"Ashal-veh!"

"The woman I love because you are what you are."

"Trip, I . . . "

"Let the others think what the devil they want to think! I know very well whom you are! A cold Vulcan female, right? Ah! _You are the sweetest, the most thoughtful, the most openhearted woman of the universe! _"

"T'hai'la . . ."

"You don't cry, do you? You don't smile, do you? You are deadpan, emotionless! But what the hell can I find in a woman like you?"

"Trip!"

"**You! That's what i can find! You! the most beautiful flower of the creation! **"

"Oh Trip!"

"Oh but what cruel a woman was the woman who helped me to heal from the sorrow caused by my sister's death! How much . . . _harshness . . ._ in this woman!"

"T'hai'la . . . I did it also for me. Neuropressure was a way to let me to be intimate with you, without . . . shame. I . . ."

"But damn… smart… of a woman! When you will finish saying nonsense tonight?

"But I…"

"You know perfectly how the flame of your heart warmed me, allowing my recovery. And then, who cares about the how and the why? Love moves in a mysterious way. Bless your neuropressure selfishness!"

"I . . ."

"T'Pol! You are THE WOMAN! You are… the woman for me!"

"Oh T'hai'la…"

"Enough, now, sweetie! Enough! Cease this foolish talk! Cease… Well! Do you know that this evening it sounds we are talking… a little bit stupidly… just as … truelovers?"

"And aren't we that, Ashayam?"

"Truelovers?"

"Y… y… yes! Two… two…"

"Ah ah! No no, darling! Don't struggle to utter this word! Don't forget you are Vulcan, after all! But… I'm… glad… you tried to do. And that you think we are that."

"My… my pleasure!"

"Oh God! Tonight you decided to stun me! But I'm worried! You are too emotional tonight. Not good. It's bad for you. Maybe it wasn't good we accepted the maître's invitation. I think it's better that we leave."

"Why say you this?"

"Music is made in order to stir emotions. Especially the Italian Operas. I don't want you to be hurt."

"T'hai'la, as I earlier said, I can control my emotions with your help. And then… "

"And then?"

"Trip, I started my… addiction because my exposure to Trellium-D on that vulcan ship in the Expanse had allowed me to feel… emotions. But they were wiggling inside me since a long time before, since the moment… I met you. Especially an emotion, ever experienced by me till then, an emotion that I was unable to understand at that time. You… you well know which emotion! Trellium allowed me to savour emotions, and… THAT emotion, in particular. I wanted… more. I wanted to… savour… that emotion, that… _feeling… __**deeper! **_Even if, in those days, I… didn't want to recognize the truth."

"Hon…"

"And, believe me T'hai'la, absolutely... totally... undoubtedly... definitely... utterly... wholly... unquestionably... I now have no regrets at having done… what I have done."

"Oh darling!"

"In any case, I don't be… scared… by emotions. I'm afraid they can overwhelm me. But, if you are with me, I can control them, and I can… relish them. So…"

"So?"

"I don't want to leave. I want to listen to music and watch the Opera. I… enjoy the spectacle. And, if you are close to me, I'm sure I can do it without… fear."

"Very well, sweetheart! As you wish!"

"Only…"

"Only?"

"Please, T'hai'la. When the light will be dampened yet again… hold… hold my hand. Tightly. Yet again!"

* * *

****

Honeymoon Evening  
End of the first scene of Part

**Two**

_Well I think the spectacle is worth, don't you believe?_

_I'm curious to see how it ends._

_And you?_

* * *

* This is a reference to my story "Christmas Eve"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Honeymoon Evening **_

_**Honeymoon Journey (and Delights) – Day One**_

**By Asso**

* * *

**Part Two - The After-Dinner Evening**

**(Scene Two)**We are there, at last. Now the infernal plans that damn Old Italian waiter has weaved in his mind for our unaware lovebirds will be wholly revealed.

* * *

What will expect them?

_**Note:**__ The words in italic between_ (*___*) _represent the thoughts (yet again,. and the words in italic between_ º___º _represent… well! I'm sure you will understand once more!_

* * *

_**Premise**_

_We are at __Boboli Gardens, you know, for the spectacle, and Boboli Garden has been made over into an unusual theatre._

_The between acts ended. _

**THE ELIXIR OF LOVE, by Gaetano Donizetti, starts again****!**

**

* * *

**

_**Act Two, Scene I**_

CHORUS

_Cantiamo, facciam brindisi  
a sposi così amabili. _

_**Come on, we all sing,  
Come on, we all toast  
To so lovable bride,  
To so lovable groom.**_

………………………………………

………………………………………

………………………………………

………………………………………

_**Act Two, Scene VII**_

Nemorino moves forward, slowly, on the stage.  
Music begins, low.  
He's about to sing "**A Furtive Tear**"

* * *

Okay!

Lo and behold.

The moment has come.

This is the clue.

Now I must sing the core of this Opera.

The immortal melody.

It's my honour.

It's my fear.

I move forward on the stage, while looking for the right concentration, and while the first musical notes begin. Sweet. Languorous. Powerfully evocative.

Almost instinctively my eyes rest on them. On the couple.

I observed them during the Opera.

They have watched always with constant attention, their hands always hooked.

Now and then she turned her head towards him, talking softly, asking something. And he was softly talking in return, as if answering.

Now her look is attentive.

She stares at me, waiting.

Her beautiful face still shows the same regal, nearly cool, expression. But somehow, it seems to me that there's something different. Her eyes are . . . wide, and I see into them a trace of . . . yes . . . of anxiety.

Why?

It almost looks like . . . trepidation.

Is it the music, perhaps?

The orchestral beginning of the piece, strongly allusive, overflowing with such a passionate sentimentalism . . . could it arouse in her a sort of . . . I don't know . . . fear?

As if… music could… emotionally… overwhelm her.

I look at her hands.

They are grasping a hand of the man. With force.

He turns his head towards her; she does likewise; and he simply smiles, sweetly, tenderly at her.

I see that immediately her face softens, her look simmers down, her grip loosens.

What does all that mean, which lasted just a breath?

I don't know.

But seeing this wonderful interaction, this evident deep connection, stirs something inside me.

I… feel… that tonight my performance will be special.

It's my time.

I start.

* * *

_Una furtiva lagrima  
negli occhi suoi spuntò  
quelle festose giovan  
i invidiar sembrò  
Che più cercando io vo?  
Che più cercando io vo?  
M'ama, si m'ama lo vedo;  
lo vedo.  
Un solo istante i palpiti  
del suo bel cor sentir!  
I miei sospir confondere  
per poco ai suoi sospir!  
I palpiti, i palpiti sentir  
confondere i miei coi suoi sospir!  
Cielo, si può morir;  
di più non chiedo.  
non chiedo!  
Cielo si può, si può morir!  
di più non chiedo  
non chiedo!  
__Si può morir!  
Si può morir!  
D'amor. _

_**A sudden furtive tear  
appeared in her eyes.  
It seemed to envy  
those cheerful youths.  
What more should I be looking for?  
What more should I be looking for? **_

_**She loves me; yes, she loves me; I see it!  
I see it! **_

_**For just one moment to sense  
the throbs of her beautiful heart!  
To mingle my sighs  
just a little with her sighs.  
The throbs, to sense the throbs!  
To mingle my sighs with hers! **_

_**Heavens, I could die,  
I ask for no more,  
for no more.  
Heavens, I could, I could die,  
I ask for no more,  
for no more.  
**__**I could die,  
I could die  
of love!**_

* * *

"T'hai'la…"

"Hon?"

"This music… this music…"

"It's awesome, isn't it?"

"And the words…"

"Did you understand their meaning?"

"On the leaflet given us at our arrival there was a translation. I… have read it."

"Ahhh…"

* * *

I wasn't wrong. Never have I sung this air in such a beautiful way!

My eyes run along the audience.

It's a choral ovation. An uproar of "Bravo! Bravissimo! Bis! More!"

The people are all on their feet.

Except for two persons.

* * *

"T'hai'la…"

"Hon?"

"This… this _furtive tear…_"

"Yes?"

"This tear... is it enough for Nemorino?"

"Love doesn't need words. A gesture, a motion,... _a tear... _are enough."

"But perhaps Nemorino could be glad, if Adina would tell him that she… loves him."

"Perhaps."

They are talking quietly, their hands interlaced.

I am unable not to look at them.

"T'hai'la…"

"Hon?"

"I… I love you. Infinitely!"

* * *

And now? What is happening?

The man has abruptly turned his face towards the woman, his eyes wide open.

She has her face turned towards his, one inch from his.

And she stares at him, steadily.

Her lips open to speak.

* * *

"Yes, Ashayam… it's so. _I love you! _

I'm sure you know my… my love for you. I'm here, with you, as your wife, in this our Honeymoon. My actions, my words, my whole behaviour proves my love – yes, my love – for you, like that tear proves Adina's love for Nemorino.

I'm sure you know my heart, and that my absurd doubts, my foolish recalcitrance are totally passed by now. Evaporated, like the snow of your world does under the Sun.

And I told you many times that I reciprocate your… love for me.

But never I have uttered these three words… _I… love… you_.

These words… so difficult to say… aloud… for Vulcans… like me. And, so important for every human, like you, to hear from his own… true love.

Now finally, I have done it! And how… how easy it is to say these words to you!

Ashayam, listen to me!

I love you! **I love you! I love you!**

Yes! **Yes! Yes!**

I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you!

I… I will love you… forever, my love!

Forever! Forever! Forever!

_**Forever… my love! **_"

* * *

The ovation goes on. But I cannot remove my eyes from them.

He slowly turns his head towards the stage, a stunned, dreaming expression on his face.

She closes her eyes, and leaning on him, their hands intertwined, she lays her head on his shoulder.

(*_Okay, damned son of a bitch of a maître! You won!_*)

I lift my arms, to stop the ovation.

I bow.

Then I turn, nodding at the troupe, meaning that the spectacle must carry on.

I blink stealthily at our trusty factotum, Antonio, who is watching from the backstage.

He nods, immediately understanding what I want to say.

My friend Lapo will be informed right now that his plan is approved. And that he must proceed.

I slowly lower my arms, and, among the general silence, the spectacle begins again.

But I can't restrain myself from looking one last time at… my - (*_Damn Lapo!_*) - couple.

They are yet in the same position.

His expression hasn't changed. Neither has hers.

Only… now her eyes are open.

They shine.

Like stars.

* * *

(Scene Three

**) – THE CONCLUSION**

We are to the point.

The air is damp and fragrant between the trees.

In the sky, a bright full moon peeps out from behind a torn veil of light clouds, which are swiftly roaming, lacerated by many vast slits from which myriad stars sparkle like tremulous flamelets.

Voices of the night's creatures fill the tenuous moonlit gloom, evoking an arcane sensation.

There's no breath of air.

It's like things are suspended.

Like they were waiting.

Like me.

This is NOT a playful game, in my mind.

The others obviously don't know it, but I want to contribute to make a new road, for all that I can do.

They... _she_... must understand that she... _their love_... is... the future's light.

And that we, _we humans_, want this light.

But… but what devil am I thinking?

She doesn't know that I know.

She… and he… only might think we want to give them an Italian romantic homage.

And nevertheless, someway I'm sure that they… _she_… will understand.

I look at my mates in this conspiracy.

They are waiting in silence, like me, hidden in between the trees.

Well! Maybe the conspicuous mass of Vittorio will prevent him from going unnoticed, but no matter.

Behind him, Amedeo, the fiddler, and Guido, the guitarist, are quietly holding on, ready to come into action at his beck.

We're under the veranda of the hotel-suite of my couple.

They didn't enter already, because the signal has yet to arrive.

Gosh! Unquestionably our… organization… works well!

I brought here Vittorio and his mates in a jiffy, after I have carried them away from the hug of the fans with no hindrance. I was ready at the side exit where we had fixed our appointment with our second staff car, smaller than the vehicle I had made available for the Commanders, and less comfortable, but quicker.

A greeting, a nod, and we were aloft, bound for this place, while contemporaneously the other car was conveying my couple a little more slowly to the same destination, and — I smile mischievous to myself — towards their suite and... their night.

And now we are here. Ready. Waiting.

**Beep… beep… beep.**

My mobile communicator whirrs.

Three times.

It's the agreed signal.

My couple is into their suite.

The lift attendant, acting in accordance with instructions, is informing me that it has just been closed behind the occupiers' shoulders door of the suite of Mr. and Mrs. … **Lovebirds**. - Yes! Exactly so! Surely it must have been an idea of Commander Tucker. I would have wanted to see the face of his wife while he was notifying their name!

I blink at Vittorio. He nods, in understanding, and motions to his mates, in turn.

I lift my hand to warn them that we must await yet for awhile.

I want that my couple let their hair down, before… the dance begins.

Yet a few minutes. A few yet.

_One, two, three…_

**Now! **

I lower my hand, and Vittorio nods again.

He moves forwards, beyond the trees, stopping under the veranda, Amedeo and Guido some steps behind him.

Me too, I move, following my friend, and stopping just a little past the trees, so that I can see and hear all.

Vittorio beckons to his companions and they start.

In the night's silence the first notes rise in the air of a very old song. An ancient melody…. a serenade… that lovers were singing to their loved long ago. A song that narrates of Florence, while it is sleeping, lost with its people into a charming, magical, love dream.

And then we hear the beautiful Vittorio voice, which rises, strong and unmistakable, vibrating softly around us.

* * *

_Firenze stanotte sei bella  
in un manto di stelle  
che in cielo risplendono tremule  
come fiammelle._

_**Florence tonight you are beautiful,  
in a cloak of stars  
that shine in the sky, quivering  
like flamelets. **_

* * *

Some noises in the room, from behind the closed door of the veranda.

* * *

_Nell'ombra nascondi gli amanti.  
le bocche tremanti si parlan d'amore._

_**In the shadow you hide the lovers,  
their trembling mouths tell each other of love.**_Light is turned on inside, illuminating the doorway.

* * *

_Intorno c'è tanta poesia. _

_**Around there's such a poetry.**_The door opens and a shadow is silhouetting in the doorway, against the light that comes from the room.

* * *

_Per te, vita mia,  
sospira il mio cuor. _

_**For you, my life,  
my heart sighs.**_The figure moves forward, slowly.

* * *

It's… _she_.

She is wrapped with a long robe, made with something that seems silk. A strange, uncommon and splendid silk. The robe hides and at the same time displays her shapely body. The moonlight lightens her face, showing and sweetening her traits, emphasizing with its soft light her charming beauty.

**A fairy! An enchanting, mysterious night's fairy! **

The chant, the music ceases.

My friends keep silent, entranced by the sight of her.

Like me.

She advances to the railing.

She leans slightly forward and lays her hands upon the railing.

She lets her eyes rove quietly over us.

Those immense, liquid, dark eyes.

She gazes at me, not showing surprise.

Then she turns her look on Vittorio.

And she waits.

My friend shakes himself, and begins again his song, as his companions restart the music.

It's the refrain.

* * *

_Sull'Arno d'argento  
si specchia il firmamento,  
mentre un sospiro e un canto  
si perdon lontan..._

_Dorme Firenze  
sotto il raggio della Luna._

_**The silvery Arno  
reflects the firmament,  
while a sigh and a song  
get lost far away...  
**__**Florence sleeps  
under moonbeams.**_Now there're the two last verses of the refrain. Fraught with meaning. I purposely recommended Vittorio to sing this particular serenade. It's an old Florence's song. That's true. And it's an old love song. That's true too. But the last two verses of the refrain mean much more.

* * *

_**Much more. **_

I watch intensely the Vulcan woman, while my friend intones the refrain's end.

He is singing in English.

_She… can understand_.

* * *

_Ma dietro ad un balcone  
veglia una madonna bruna._

_**But, behind a balcony,  
a dark-haired madonna is awake.**_Was it a frisson that ran through her body? Was it?

* * *

Are her hands holding the railing with force? Aren't they?

(*_A dark-haired madonna! Yes! That's she! She's beautiful and ethereal like a florentine madonna of the Renaissance! And nevertheless, she's also so… so worldly, so bodily, so physical… sensual… carnal... just like those madonnas were capable of being. _*)

The second strophe begins.

Vittorio voice resounds strong and clear. Passionate.

* * *

_Balconi adornati  
di pampini e glicini in fiore  
stanotte schiudetevi ancora  
che passa l'amore._

_**Tonight balconies,  
beautified with vine leaves and wisterias in flower,  
must be opened,  
because Love is passing by.**_A second silhouette in the doorway, against the room's light.

* * *

It's big. Powerful.

It's the Commander.

* * *

_Germogliano le serenate. _

_**Serenades sprout.**_He moves forward.

* * *

Toward his wife.

He halts behind her.

* * *

_Madonna ascoltate: son mille canzon. _

_**Madonna, listen to: there're thousand songs.**_

His arms enfold her from behind. Possessively.

His hands firmly hook each other on her belly. Possessively.

"_**You are mine! **_"

That's what he means to say!

* * *

_Firenze Sogna. _

_**Florence dreams.**_

She languidly leans backward on him.

She lays her head upon his chest.

Her eyes half-closed, she places her hands upon his.

"_**I'm yours! **_"

That's what she means to say!

* * *

_Un vostro sorriso è la vita,  
la gioia infinita,  
l'eterna passion. _

_**One of your smiles is life,  
infinite delight,  
eternal passion.**_

* * *

Their embrace tightens, and - I swear - he tenderly cradles her to the beat of the music!

And slowly… her eyes… fully shut.

* * *

_Sull'Arno d'argento  
si specchia il firmamento,  
mentre un sospiro e un canto  
si perdon lontan...  
Dorme Firenze  
sotto il raggio della Luna.  
Ma dietro ad un balcone  
veglia una madonna bruna._

_**The silvery Arno  
reflects the firmament,  
while a sigh and a song  
get lost far away...  
Florence sleeps  
under moonbeams.  
But, behind a balcony,  
a dark-haired madonna is awake.**_

* * *

The refrain has begun again, and I have closed my eyes, like she, relishing the moment.

The refrain ends and I wait for the last verses of the song.

I'm waiting....

_**Why don't they come?**_

My eyes snap opened.

I look at my friends.

They are motionless and dumb.

They are watching steadily towards the veranda.

I swiftly turn my head, and... I see.

The Commander and his wife are still in the same position, but… but now her head is turned backward, so that her face is looking at his, only one inch from his face, which is turned, it too, toward hers.

_They are staring one at other. _

_Intensely. _

_**They… are reciprocally gazing, while, her right hand always upon his, her left hand is lifting her hair, displaying to the world… her Vulcan pointed ear! **_

A maelstrom of thoughts in my mind.

(*_An Elf! Not a night fairy! A marvellous, effulgent, light Elf! _*)

And then . . .

(*_I'm a complete idiot! I'm here, overpowered with her intoxicating beauty, whereas I should be horrified by her reckless action! _*)

**And… then…**

(*_Her… action! I heard their conversation! I know their troubles! I'm aware of her… fear! __**No woman, ever, will make an avowal of love so… sublime… as this! **_*)

My eyes turn again on my companions.

They are observing the scene, and Vittorio, is clearly frowning.

His look lays upon me.

I know he has no biases, but he's a smart man.

He understands I withheld the truth.

He turns his head toward my… my two truelovers, and I ape his gesture.

Nothing is changed, except for one thing.

Now her left hand is no longer lifting her hair.

Now this hand is sweetly placed on his right cheek.

_Tenderly, lovingly, caressing it! _

I… I feel I'm melting! Literally!

I hear a choked sound that comes from my friends. From all three of them.

My eyes turn quickly upon them, and I see… plainly.. that they are overwhelmed, like me!

_Why? _

But immediately I understand the reasons of their throated exclamation, of their astonishment.

I know myself very well.

I'm an Old Italian _**sentimental**_ waiter, and I have always been _**abysmally**_ tenderhearted.

And then I have… gained knowledge of the awful story of my couple. Of their... incoercible love.

Maybe my companions could be as sentimental as I am, but in any case they don't know what I know.

Nevertheless they are staying motionless, voiceless, their eyes stuck to the scene on the veranda.

And… it's no doubt… touched… very touched, as am I.

Because…

Because… in a few instants… all their ideas, all their preconceptions crumbled off.

There, in that veranda, there's the wide open gate of the future.

She and he… - _by now I'm not capable of calling them otherwise, because it seems to me that they are "SHE and HE", only that! _- She and he aren't simply a couple in love.

"**Here! Look at me! Look at the woman I am!**" – _This… she is crying out!_

"**Here! Look at us! Look at what we are!**" – _This… she and he are shouting loud!_

(*_Yes! You two are the first, and on your path other people will walk. You two are opening the way, with courage and with pain, driven by the force of your love. You two are the first stone of a jubilant bridge, whose end cannot be seen, because it's lost far, into infinity. _*)

And, in awhile, my friends do realize all that.

Now they are aware of my true intentions.

They know, now, that this is NOT a playful game.

_Will they understand? _

_Will they follow my heart? _

_Or the wild, dark side of the men will scream its crazy, blind rage yet again? _

While thinking, my look never left my companions.

Vittorio tightens his eyes and his lips.

Then, purposely, he moves forward one step and beckons his mates.

His voice rises, powerful, in the air.

* * *

_Sopra i lungarni senti,  
un'armonia d'amore.  
Sospirano gli amanti,  
stretti stretti, cuore a cuore._

_**Over Arno's riversides you can feel  
a love harmony.  
Lovers sigh,  
tightly hugging each other, heart against heart.**__I feel a marvellous warmth inside me, and, with my eyes moist, I look again at my couple._

* * *

Now her hand is on his nape, after she has slightly turned her body, so that their faces can stay facing each other.

That hand is drawing his head toward hers, as her mouth… is trying to reach his mouth.

Her eyes shut.

Their lips touch.

_They kiss each other._

_**The sweetest love kiss I ever saw! **_

I spring, hearing Antonio's voice that sings again.

The serenade is ended, and these words are not a part of it.

These are new words.

An added chant that my friend wants to sing only… _**for her!**_

* * *

_Madonna bruna,_

_tu sei più bella della luna.  
E questa dolce notte  
ti porterà l'Amor! _

_**Dark-haired madonna,  
you're more beautiful than the moon.  
And this sweet night  
will give you... **__**Love!**_

She and he — Yes! SHE and HE. — break their kiss, and turn around, always enfolding each other in their arms, moving toward the door of their room.

Her head upon his shoulder.

His head upon her head.

They go into their room, closing the door behind themselves, while Vittorio is singing once more the new verses.

* * *

_Madonna bruna,  
tu sei più bella della luna.  
E questa dolce notte  
ti porterà l'Amor! _

_**Dark-haired madonna,  
**__**you're more beautiful than the moon.  
And this sweet night  
will give you... **__**Love!**_

Finally, the music ends.

The night's silence wraps us, no noise under moonlight.

We remain so, for awhile, watching the closed door, the window illuminated by the light coming from the inside.

Then, we look one at another.

Smiling.

In silence.

Who needs words?

Vittorio nods to me, as his mates, and I return their gesture.

They turn around, and move, going off, slowly.

I follow them.

I raise my head, looking at the sky.

The clouds have disappeared, and the moon is shining aloft, a myriad of stars covering the heavenly vault.

It's late.

°_Where are you? Is this any hour to return home? Without saying anything to me? To your wife? _°

The thought of my wife who is awaiting, awake, at our home, unaware of my… business, violently strikes me.

I can clearly prefigure in my mind her angry words.

°_Do you have any answer? You are…_ °

°_I'm a beast, I know. You are absolutely right. But I also know you are the most kind and understanding wife…_ °

°_Don't try to blandish me with your talkativeness! I won't swallow your bait! _°

Why don't I feel guilt?

Why am I smiling to myself, thinking of our upcoming conversation?

Maybe because I'm too glad tonight to feel worried.

And also because, more simply, I well know how I will reply.

°_Sweetie, please, don't be enraged with me! I… had to arrange a… serenade! _°

°_What the hell… A… a… serenade? _°

°_Yes. A serenade for a… Vulcan female. _°

°_What are you maundering? Crazy man! _°

°_I… am crazy? I'm not crazier than the crazy woman that you are, when you said what you said of a certain Vulcan female! _°

°_Do you want to stop speaking cryptically? I…_°

°_You only must hug me. Tomorrow I will explain all. Now… – and I will sweetly smile to her, in telling her these words – Now I only want… to make love with you! _°

I openly smile, well knowing how my wife will react to my words.

She will smile in return, her rage faded, and she will embrace me.

And I will bring her on our bed.

And we will make love all the night.

(*_Yes. We… will make love all the night…_*)

And she will be lost in me.

As women do when they are… in love.

With that immense ability of the women to be… women!

_Human… or Vulcan. _

I halt.

Abruptly.

My head turns around toward the veranda.

The light is still on.

And, precisely while I'm watching, the light… goes off.

My smile broadens, and the warmth inside me grows.

Slowly, my look leaves the veranda's dark window.

I put the hands in my pockets, and sluggish I again begin walking.

By now I'm alone.

My friends surely have already left by the car that conveyed the Commander and his wife here.

I walk slowly, in the fragrant and fresh air of the night, between the trees, under a sky of stars, in the moonlight.

Now I'm at the exit.

I stop, one last time.

And, one last time, I look at the veranda, now slightly far, beyond the trees.

All is quiet, perfect.

How it must be.

There's a great peace, in the night… like in my soul.

I sigh deeply, my eyes always on the closed and dark door of the veranda.

Almost unconsciously, I start to speak with low voice.

"Farewell, Mr. and Mrs… – I laugh quietly - _Lovebirds. _Farewell."

I return to being serious.

"I'm proud to have meet you two, and… and…"

I shake lightly my head, repressing a hint of sadness.

Then, I speak again.

"No. Not farewell, but goodbye. Yes. Goodbye. Who knows. Maybe someday our paths will cross yet again."

I look again, the last time, at the veranda.

"But, for now, I only want to wish you two… goodnight."

I smile.

"Yes. Goodnight. Goodnight, Commander Tucker. Goodnight… T'Pol of Vulcan, sweet, splendid… Queen of Love!"

I turn around to leave.

I walk away, a slight smile on my mouth, while I hum a sweet tune.

_**Dark-haired madonna,  
you're more beautiful than the moon.  
And this sweet night  
will give you... **__**Love!**_

**The End** (of the first day of the Honeymoon Journey and Delights of Commander Tucker and of T'Pol, his Bride)

* * *

Well!  
I hope you enjoyed the first day, because, in this case, I will be able to narrate the second day, and the third, and....

_**if you want! **__  
Anyway, if you think this story is... (I would like to be refrained from uttering the exact words), please, don't be angry with the maître.  
He is NOT a bad man!  
He loves Trip and T'Pol's… __Love!  
Like me.  
__**Like all of you, I think!**_

* * *


End file.
